


This Darkness (Is Nothing But a Lack of Light)

by grammaryl



Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:58:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16780057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grammaryl/pseuds/grammaryl
Summary: "We can drop it Wato. Just say the word."Wato knows from the way Sherlock says it, that its already way too late.





	1. Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> You need to read my 'Stuff and Nonsense' series before this, otherwise things wont make sense. 
> 
> This was...an event in writing. 5k.

Everything changes.

Nothing changes.

Wato isn't sure how these two facts can co-exist. How Sherlock seems entirely new to her, bright and brilliant, like her eyes had finally seen her, like she finally understood all the ways Sara was Sherlock. As if she hadn't known the true depth of her; hadn't appreciated her strength, resilience, intelligence in a way she should've.

And yet, she was still Sherlock. Smug with the pizza delivery guy that first night, gold robe covering little and suggesting much more. Complaining about the never ending laundry, even though Wato's relented on their agreement and spared her the indignity of the heavy loads.

(And goodness knows, she's had to change the bed sheets a few times already. Sherlock is a very intense lover, and Mrs Hatano's kind but firm request they keep it upstairs after what happened on Thursday -- which she's determined to erase from her mind, nope, never happened -- has only enhanced her fervor.

Maybe keeping it locked up is a turn on for her too. Maybe.

Oh, who is she kidding? As soon as Sara clicks her door shut Wato might as well have a sign around her neck saying 'ready and willing'.)

The point is, the emergence of their feelings for one another has altered nothing and everything. Wato's heart now flutters at Sherlock's smile. When she sits near. When she wakes to find her still asleep, the quiet of the night interrupted only by their breathing. Her hands tingle then too; ten days of lovemaking, of heated sex, of Sherlock all around her, have her fingers longing for the softness of her skin, or a simple handhold, or anything at all.

Anything and everything and all that's in between.

\-----

It takes her too long to realise Sherlock's been letting her calls go to voicemail.

It's endearing, of course, knowing Sherlock has chosen to value this insular world of theirs. To be content with playing the cello, or reading, or spreading out a 5000 piece puzzle on the apartment table for them both. To be happy to show Wato the fundamentals of the essential oils she makes. To allow mornings in bed to stretch into the afternoon, as they explore each other. To enjoy being together. To allow Wato to include them in Mrs Hatano's weekend gardening.

Wato supposes the last one is as close to 'I'll do anything for you' as Sherlock is going --

Except she knows differently, has already lived through what Sherlock is willing to do for her. A little dirt underneath her fingernails won't ever surpass a loaded gun.

Or a bullet to the back.

Wato's breath catches.

_He's gone. He's gone. He's gone._

("Wato...I need to tell you something." Wato sees the strain in Sherlock's face, the sorrow in her eyes, and knows where the conversation's going. It hurts, and then it hurts less. Wato takes Sherlock's hand and leads her upstairs, leads her all through it, until Sara is shaking beneath her, until they're both conveying I love you and I'm sorry and I forgive you all at once.)

_He's gone. He can't--_

"Wato?"

Wato startles and the words on the page in the book she's been reading come back into focus. She turns around to Sherlock sitting at her desk, seat swivelled towards her. Poised on the edge, ready. Wato remembers to breathe.

"It takes you one hundred and eight seconds to turn the page of one of your," Sherlock pauses, flash of amusement in her eyes, "romance novels, which is a little better than the average person."

 _You've stopped reading. Your mind is elsewhere. I'm concerned_. Wato translates Sherlock so much better now.

"I love you." It catches Sherlock off guard, a momentary half second of bewilderment in those brown eyes, before the worry resettles.

"And I you. Your breathing stopped."

"I was thinking." Sherlock's brows raise in question, even though Wato's well aware she knows the answer. Sees it in the thinning of her lips, in the setting of her jaw, in the way her weight shifts further forward. Ready to get to her should she break.

("The autopsy showed the virus killed him. Not...")

It hurts less, but it still hurts. Stings in a way she's not sure will ever pass. She'll have to do her best to ignore it. Focus on other things.

Wato slips her bookmark from the back of the book to the page she's on and sets it down on the coffee table. Quickly asks, "How long has Reimon been calling?"

Sherlock sighs. Pauses for a long moment. "Since Wednesday."

Wato stands and approaches her, sliding a hand over her knee. Feels the spark and the flutter as Sherlock looks up at her. "So you can be on their payroll, after..."

It goes unsaid. Wato watches Sherlock lift her hands, feels them settle on her hips. They carefully pull her forward till she's kneeling in between Sherlock's legs. Eye to eye. Wato drops her elbows on familiar trousers and finds her shirt with her fingers.

"I did it for eight years, two months and twenty three days before you showed up."

Wato huffs, because of course. "And these ten days have been?"

"Necessary. For us."

Wato smiles, warmth spreading through her. Feels mischief brewing. "Even the gardening?"

Sherlock rolls her eyes. "Those daisies are going to die without proper hydration. They're in the--"

"Call him back Sherlock."

Wato expects a simple acknowledgement from her, the situation decided. Sherlock instead taps an index finger against her back. Frowns in thought. "I don't want you to feel obligated...if you're not ready..."

Wato lifts a hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and pulls her forward, kissing her slowly. Brushes their noses together when she draws back. "I am."

\------

She is.

She really is.

The problem is Sherlock. Or the problem is Sherlock seems to think she hasn't worked it out, when she's known since they located that damn poo-coloured guinea pig. Three cases ago. And sure, she hasn't let on she knows about Sherlock picking and choosing the most benign cases for them because it's sweet and shows Sherlock cares and hello, they've got a lifetime's supply of udon from Kamachiku out of it, but she's going to go insane if the next case file is less than a third of a printed page long.

So she formulates a plan. Goes to bed early the next few nights, long before she knows Sherlock will even consider it. Sleeps in pajamas, instead of her nightdress. Keeps the kisses between them short, stops seeking out touch as a way to communicate. Spends a bit more time with Mrs Hatano and away from Sherlock. Has to fake a headache one night when the plan nearly comes unstuck, Sherlock coming to bed early, seeking out something other than sleep.

She knows Sherlock suspects something. Wato's half worried she's taken it too far, but she's this close.

She runs a bath. Texts Reimon from the tub ( _I know what you're doing_ ) and calls Shibata (" _Stop letting her bully you._ ") and less than eight minutes later Sherlock's familiar footfalls sound, the door swinging violently open.

"What do you think you're..." Sherlock begins, annoyance making way for sudden captivation, then back to annoyance, steam swirling around her and out the open door.

She looks so stupidly in between emotions that Wato has to stifle a laugh, the bubbles on her hand getting on her chin. Which becomes an effort to clean off properly. She really should've eased up on the bubble bath.

Still, she manages to pop a shoulder with her _I thought it was obvious_ face.

"You can't just contact Reimon and demand better cases for..." Sherlock pauses. "I can't argue with you when you have soap on your face."

"Then don't argue."

Wato slides her hands along the tub and lifts herself out of the water, making sure to stretch out her movements. Fingers lift to pull her hair out of the bun she'd put it in, to keep it dry. She feels it settle on her wet shoulders, the ends gathering up the moisture. Her hands find the bubbles at her chest and brush down, slow over the curves, fingers grazing nipples. Lower still to her soft stomach. Then lower still.

Wato lifts her eyes, achingly slow, and meets Sherlock's. Brown eyes are blown wide open, tongue licking her bottom lip, and Wato knows she's hit the jackpot.

She's chuckling and lifting her foot to get out when the other slips in the water.

(There's a microsecond of a moment, she'll remember later on, when both her feet are completely clear of the bottom of the tub, her body lifting and drifting in motion, airborne, just like after the bomb.)

Then she's motionless, bent backwards. Sherlock's face is close, arms securely around her. Wato blinks, then blinks again, before realising Sherlock has caught her. Has saved her. Is smiling down at her like she's won and Wato's lost.

"How's the _'seduce Sherlock to my will'_ plan going?" Sherlock asks, eyes gleaming.

Wato grins up at her despite being on the back foot. Settles her hands on Sherlock's shoulders, another spot for her zebra floral pajamas to grow wet. "Oh, Sherlock would never fall for this."

Sherlock's eyes crinkle proudly.

"But Sara? Sara's a red blooded woman, and what red blooded woman wouldn't want," Wato drops her eyes to her chest and waves her hand, "all of this?"

"Straight ones," Sherlock deadpans.

Wato rolls her eyes. "Good thing you're not, hey?"

"Indeed."

Wato knows, intimately, how not straight this woman holding her is. Had learned on that first night, after Sherlock had taken her upstairs after their half eaten pizza, just how talented she was at loving a woman. How that tongue, once so acidic towards her, could send her to the stars.

Wato shivers at the memory. Decides she is definitely horny.

Recognition shows on Sherlock's face and Wato can't help but love the smirk that appears as a result. _Cocky little shit_.

"How long do you think you can hold me in this position?"

"Depends on the outcome." Sherlock pronounces the last syllable pointedly and Wato feels the familiar warmth settle in her stomach. She inhales Sherlock's scent and falls further into eyes of want and playfulness and need.

A need she's caused. She hasn't touched Sara in four days. It suddenly feels like forever.

But she needs a promise from her more. Needs her to know she's alright with this life they have. They deal with criminal cases. They deal with the police. Things are going to get scary sometimes. Dangerous on occasion. She'd decided the day after the Shiina sisters case that she was okay with that. She could help Sherlock. She could help and it would lessen the mess she'd made in Syria. She was helping, somewhere in the world she was helping, and that was all she'd ever wanted to do.

Toru Moriya and Doctor Irikawa -- Moriwaki, she corrects herself -- weren't going to ruin that for her.

Something must show on her face, because Sherlock lifts her upright without a word. Helps her step out of the tub. Reaches for a towel to wrap around her, hands rubbing it along Wato's arms. Wato pinches the corner and pats at Sherlock's pajama top; it's a futile measure and they both chuckle in response.

Sherlock drops her eyes to somewhere near Wato's collarbone. A long moment passes before she concedes, "It was a way to protect you."

Wato lifts a hand to cup her cheek. Gets Sherlock to look up. "I know, and I'm grateful, but you're too good for distraught pet owners and overzealous noodle makers. You're needed on more serious cases Sherlock."

Sherlock exhales, leaning into Wato's touch. "I know."

"I want you to accept the very next case Reimon gives you, okay?" Wato tucks a loose strand of hair behind Sherlock's ear and slides fingers along her scalp. "No more boring ones."

Sherlock hums, eyes closing.

"Swear it Sara," Wato says quietly.

Sherlock's hands drift around her lower back, slow over damp skin, that wet pajama top cold against her breasts. Wato shivers again; imagines Sherlock can feel the goosebumps forming, can feel her heart pounding through the zebras and the leaves and the material keeping them from each other.

A forehead tilts her way, lining up with hers.

Eyes open, blazing with heat and promise. "The very next one. I swear it."

\-----

The bathroom tiles are cold against her back and feet, but Wato hardly minds when her tongue is on Sara's clit, in between her folds, making her whimper and moan and curse.

"I'm never going four days without that again," Sherlock gets out between heavy breaths later on, head dropping to Wato's shoulder as their legs tangle together.

"You do realise it was so good cos of those four days, right?" Wato strokes Sara's arm absently, aware of the towel digging into her back.

"What a horrible quandary."

Wato laughs and kisses her head.

\-----

Sherlock's phone rings early the next morning. Wato struggles to wake, deliciously sore from the nights activities until the look on Sherlock's face says something is wrong.

"Tell me," Wato requests, once the call ends.

"Wato--"

"You promised."

Sherlock sighs defeatedly. "A psychiatrists wife has been murdered."

("One...two...")

\-----

"We can drop this case at any time, I mean it."

Wato nods at Sherlock. "I know. If it gets too much I'll say."

\-----

She plays buffer between Sherlock and Ito Ogata, the grieving widower. Devastated that his wife has been found at their place of work with the same number of stab wounds as years they've been married. Only mildly put off by the questions from the police, about his patients, about his family, about his whereabouts.

His kindness unnerves Wato, but she knows its just Irikawa -- Moriwaki -- in her head, making her feel that way. It's just the headache she's been fighting all morning.

("One...two...")

He's their initial person of interest, as per protocol (and the pesky little issue of him requesting a warrant for his home), until he turns up dead in Tomigaya Park, having slipped the detail following him. Its clear he'd gone there to meet the killer. Sherlock notes the missing wedding ring and same amount of stab wounds as his wife. Wato imagines cutting him down, spraying his blood all over the grass. Can't get it out of her head as they search the Ogata apartment, the warrant now voided.

(She has a brief respite when Sherlock swipes his laptop, comically carrying it underneath her coat, as if Reimon and Shibata can't see exactly what she's doing.)

That night she sits up with Sherlock way past midnight, listening to her read his patient files. Way past her reasonable bedtime of ten thirty, way past what her sinuses and chest can handle. Way past the point of Sherlock not seeing, not understanding.

"You're sick Wato."

"I'm fine." A bout of coughing ensues, her lungs betraying her. Wato pulls the blanket around her tighter. "I can help with your interviews tomorrow."

"What interviews?" Sherlock asks, acting coy as she leans across the couch to check Wato's forehead.

"The ones we'll be doing with the list of people you've compiled in your brain closet already."

"I don't know what--"

"You're talking about, yeah, yeah." Wato sneezes. "Ugh."

\-----

Mrs Hatano finds her a face mask the next morning. Shibata and Reimon gently chide her for working while unwell, but allow it, much to Sherlock's annoyance.

They spend the next two days interviewing people. Sherlock's list is substantial, given the various diagnoses of Ogata's patients. Wato recognises one, Hatomi Kugimiya, but neither of them can recall how they know each other. Shibata and Reimon cross reference alibi's and receipts. Wato does her best to follow Sherlock's line of thinking in between her coughing and aching bones, but she knows she's fighting a losing battle against the picture emerging of Ito Ogata.

Goro Amemori explains at length his involvement in a robbery of a rival clinic. Sui Akiba informs them she left her family. Matsudaira Wakayoshi says he threatened his boss and lost his job. They discover three patients of Ogata's have committed suicide in the last year alone. Sherlock thinks there may be more.

All as a result of Ito Ogata. Of him whispering in their ears, getting them to do his bidding. Getting them to destroy their lives. Seeing how far he could push them.

It's too much like, too much--

("One...two...")

\-----

"We can drop it Wato. Just say the word."

Wato knows from the way Sherlock says it, that its already way too late.

\-----

"No one listened to me then," Tabito Nagaoka spits. "Why do you care now?"

Wato grimaces, blinking in the artificial light of the store. She needs a Bufferin and bed.

Tabito's mother had finally directed them to her son, after refusing to for two days. Had wanted him left alone, to get on with his life, without them bringing up the past.

"A pattern has been established in Ogata's behaviour," Reimon states. "You were telling the truth."

Nagaoka huffs. "No shit."

"Just tell us what happened to you." Sherlock insists, irritated.

Wato knows Sherlock can see how unwell she is. Sees her shift closer in the corner of her eye. She'll have a hand against the small of her back in--

Yep. There it is.

She really needs to go home.

"Please Tabito-san." Wato's voice is scratchy, muffled by the mask. "We just want to help."

"You mean like he helped me?" Tears appear in the young man's eyes. He rubs the back of his hand across them, ashamed, skittish.

Wato wonders briefly if he'll run. Has to prevent that. Takes a step toward him. He looks at her curiously as she removes her mask.

"I'm so sorry you crossed paths with him Tabito-san. We know your mother was scared for your safety, scared that you would..." Wato stops herself. _Positive now_. "But you're here. You survived him. It looks like you've got a good job, and you look a lot healthier than me right now..."

He smiles a little as Wato chuckles. Coughs because of it. "Sorry."

"We have drinks for sale if you..." Tabito points to it.

"I'm okay."

Sherlock disappears in that direction anyway. Reimon follows a second later, intuitive as always.

Wato clears her throat. Realises what this has become.

Shibata takes his cue and hands her the tape recorder, suddenly very interested in the various flavours of chips a few metres away.

Wato presses the record button.

Tabito sighs. "How much do you know about..."

"I just need to hear what was specifically said by him that night on the bridge."

"Well...a lot of praise. A lot of " _It's alright, you can do it_ ".

Wato blinks, and inexplicably she's back on that rooftop, gun in her hand, voice in her ear, aiming, always aiming--

_No, no, no--_

She closes her eyes, opening them to nothing. Her ears are ringing, and the dust, she can't get away from the--

Something grabs at her shoulder and she screams, darting away, hands trying to find purchase on anything that isn't the mess, that isn't, that's not _bits of_ \--

"You're okay Wato, just breathe now."

She is, isn't she? She thought she -- no, there's a burning in her chest -- she needs to, but she's choking --

"Wato, I'm right here, just look up--just look for Sherlock..."

She lifts her head and somehow Sherlock's there amongst the dust, bent towards -- hands held in front.

"Hey, there you are, okay, breathe with me Wato, just breathe..."

Sherlock inhales, hands accentuating. Wato follows the move, feeling her chest expand. Follows as Sherlock exhales, hands moving down. Wato feels the fire in her lungs lessen. Feels it dampen down as she concentrates on filling up her lungs before expelling it all again, eyes glued to Sherlock. Realises the dust is no longer there as something stills her fingers. Wato looks down then; she's been scratching the linoleum floor and there's marks from her fingernails.

Sherlock grabs her as she clambers forward, the real world violently rushing in.

\-----

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Vanilla.

Lavender.

Reimon's scarf.

Shibata's watch.

The music over the store speakers.

Sherlock's breathing.

Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock.

Breath in.

Breathe out.

\-----

Her legs feel like concrete. Wato tries to slip her shoe off with the other, once, twice, before Sherlock sets her against the door frame and leans down to help. Mrs Hatano materialises beside her, hand on her arm in support, and Wato offers what she thinks is a smile.

Even her face hurts.

"This is most definitely the flu." Mrs Hatano palms Wato's forehead, nodding. "You're warm--we'll get you settled and then I'll bring you some chicken soup."

Sherlock stands and wraps an arm around her waist. "Let's get you into bed."

Wato manages the stairs with Sherlock beside her. Has a coughing fit halfway down the hall, breathing coming in gasps, so much like her flashback that Sherlock has to talk her through it again. Soft and helpful, keenly aware of Mrs Hatano's presence, never mentioning before, should Wato not want anyone else to know.

Wato loves her for it. Finds herself needing to voice it, in amongst her shaky breaths.

Sherlock doesn't reply, other than to say _you need to rest_ , but Wato feels it in the care she gives. How a hand is almost always touching her, as they get her out of her coat and she gets her out of her jeans. How she works quickly, pooling pajama legs and easing Wato's aching ones into them. How she forgoes the pajama top, because of the scar. How she tucks Wato's button up into her waist band, keeping her back warm. Her attention as they settle her under the covers, _do you need another pillow and can you refill the humidifier Hatano-san?_

How she sits on the edge of the bed beside, measuring out the cough medicine for Wato, holding it to her lips. How she insists Wato drink the left over half bottle of water. How she brings the tissue box closer, _oh, did you want your book from downsta--_

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"Just sit still."

"Right. Sorry."

Wato sinks her head into the pillow. Feels the weight of the day lodge itself inside her as her eyelids grow heavy. Thinks of Tabito Nagaoka. How he'd nearly jumped because of Ogata.

How Sherlock had jumped, to save her from Irikawa.

 _Moriwaki_ , she admonishes. Why can't she get that right in her head?

"Close your eyes Wato."

She sighs, fumbling a hand free from the sheets in search of Sherlock's. "It's all messed up."

"That's okay." Sherlock squeezes her hand. "It'll be clearer after you get some sleep."

Wato fights it; can't bear the thought that, can't bear the...

Something brushes her cheek, then--

\-----

She wakes to the sound of rain on the roof, the room dark and Sherlock asleep beside her. Has to escape the too hot covers, sliding out from under them carefully. Sherlock stirs a little, muttering her name, but Wato strokes her hand, easing her back to sleep with an _I'm okay_.

Wato walks through the house, in search of that chicken soup she'd been promised, finding comfort in the familiar creaks, in the sound of the grandfather clock ticking in Mrs Hatano's lounge. Knows how lucky she is to have found this wonderful and warm home, to have found Sherlock and Mrs Hatano, to have gotten to--

Someone is standing in the garden.

Wato halts, blinking, hoping her eyes or her flu-addled mind are--

They're not.

It's pouring rain and someone in a hoodie is looking back at her through the glass, not moving, not--

Wato's heart's suddenly pounding in her chest.

It's Hatomi Kugimiya.

And all at once, Wato remembers.

Three rows back. Japanese Medical Volunteers orientation day. For Syria. Same height. Same haircut as Wato's. Same blouse. They'd smiled at each other in acknowledgement.

She'd never seen her again.

Hatomi's peering at her, lit up only by the moon. Wato watches her, fixed to the spot. Mirrors the hand low on her stomach and--

Oh.

 _No_.

Wato remembers Hatomi's hand there during the interview with her. She'd thought it had been a simple body language clue, thought she was understandably uncomfortable, because they were at her place of work.

Had they been wrong? Was Hatomi pregnant?

How had Sherlock missed the possibility of it?

Wato has to lean against the window as it comes to her.

_She's been too busy worrying about you, you fool._

Pregnancy was a strong motive. Wato knows who the father likely is. Knows the likelihood of Hatomi being Ogata's killer is higher, almost a certainty. What she doesn't know is if Akae Ogata is her or his victim. Hatomi had been working a late shift, with two of her co-workers vouching for her.

Had Ogata and her planned it together? Or had Hatomi demanded he leave his wife because of her pregnancy? Had he refused?

How had that smiling girl, who'd been so ready to help others, become a murderer?

Wato knows the answer.

Ogata.

But she can help her. Wato knows she can help. She has to try.

So she walks toward the glass sliding door. Half expects Hatomi to run. Finds herself surprised when she walks toward it as well. Grabs one of Mrs Hatano's umbrellas from the coat rack. Slips on her too tight green gumboots. Opens the door, then the umbrella and quickly descends the stone steps.

"Have you worked it out then?" Hatomi asks, rain spitting off her lips. She's absolutely drenched. Frightened.

"Mostly," Wato says, lifting the umbrella over both their heads. "It all hinges on your pregnancy, right?"

Hatomi nods.

"We've been talking to other patients of his...he had a habit of hurting people Hatomi. Did he hurt you as well?"

Hatomi nods once again. "He--he told me he would leave her, but he...she would find a way to destroy him, destroy his career. I was okay with sharing him."

"But then you fell pregnant."

"A baby needs its father. I know first hand...but he refused to tell her."

"So you got rid of her. Thought maybe then you and him could be together."

"Yes."

"How did you convince your coworkers to give you an alibi?"

"Oh, you know..." Hatomi suddenly grins, steely glint in her eye that wasn't there before. "People tend to help you out when you're blackmailing them. One's into some seriously freaky shit and the other likes killing stray dogs."

Wato feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Shivers under that look. "We had another patient of his confess to a burglary in exchange for leniency...I know that if you--"

"I was expecting your detective friends to work it out quicker than this." Hatomi shakes her head. "But I think one of them has been a little preoccupied, hmm? How long have you been fucking each other?"

Wato's hand tightens on the umbrella handle. She takes a step back.

"Oh, tell the truth now Wato. Don't run away. Is she good in bed? Is your life good now? Did you get a good counsellor when you got back home, after stealing my seat on that plane?"

Wato remembers the rest:

Hatomi being wheeled past her in that Syrian hospital, her head bandaged and her arm in a sling. Wato had been preoccupied with getting someone to listen to her, getting someone to understand her need to get out, to get away from this hell on earth. She'd only glanced her out of the corner of her eye.

Apparently Hatomi had had the same wish to get out of there.

Wato thinks, of course. This is what this is.

She answers Hatomi's question truthfully: "No. She was rubbish."

Hatomi huffs. "You expect me to believe that?"

Wato shrugs. "You're gonna believe whatever you want to believe....murderers tend to do that."

Wato coughs, and a fist connects with her throat before she even comprehends what's happening. It snaps her backwards, the umbrella falling to the side as she stumbles, gasping in pain.

Wato never sees the switchblade in her panic. Only knows it's embedded in her gut because Hatomi's hand is there, holding its handle.

(Three things occur within the next second:

One. Wato presses her hand against the base of Hatomi's.

Two. Wato decides that nothing will budge it from there.

Three. Wato knows she's dead if Hatomi gets the knife free.)

She turns her wrist holding the umbrella and drives it as hard as she can at Hatomi's body; the point connects with flesh and Hatomi flounders back, letting the knife go.

Wato sees her touch the wound, shocked. Tries to stay calm. Her throat is--

She needs help.

Hatomi laughs, then launches herself at the knife. Wato swivels to the side at the very last second, hearing a distinct crack a moment later.

Knows exactly what it is. Looks anyway.

Hatomi lies still, skull dented in by the middle stone step.

("One...two...three.")

Then:

Clapping.

In amongst the sound of the rain.

Wato looks.

Sees Doctor Irikawa sitting on Mrs Hatano's red garden bench.

Clapping.

Smiling.

Proud.

Wato sinks to her knees. Feels dread overwhelm her. Looks down at the knife sticking out of her. Knows she's in trouble.

"Well done Wato."

_You're not here._

"I'm where it matters."

Wato feels a finger tap her head. She shrinks from it, lifting her eyes to see Irikawa bent in front of her. Dry. Unaffected by the rain.

Her gut is suddenly on fire.

"Your adrenaline's wearing away...you've probably got about six, maybe ten minutes before your brain starts shutting down from lack of oxygen. Not getting much, by the looks of things. On the other hand, Hatomi's definitely hit your intestines. Who knows what's leaking inside of you. You're going to die all alone in the rain, just like your great grandfather did. He killed people too, didn't he Wato? Just. Like. You."

Wato wheezes, mouth agape, hand to her throat.

Irikawa stands. Steps towards the forgotten umbrella and picks it up. Presses the quick release, the arms springing down.

"Do you think the umbrella point hit her baby?" Irikawa asks, holding it up to her face to see. "Do you think it felt pain when you stabbed it?"

The doctor seems to ponder the question, before sighing. Wraps the umbrella tag around the fabric, securing it to itself. Offers it to Wato on two open hands.

Wato manages to take it, body shaking, gasping, trying to--

"You've managed to make the most mundane personal item a baby killing weapon."

Wato swings the umbrella. It connects with the side of Irikawa's head and sails on, Wato falling to her side with the effort.

It hurts, then it hurts less.

The last thing she sees is the daisies drenched in rain.

\-----

(Wato won't know she hits one of the glass windows, shattering it. She won't know the sound jars both Sara and Mrs Hatano out of sleep, as well as Mr Wanijima from next door. She won't see Sara nearly trip down the stairs in her rush to get to her. She won't hear Mrs Hatano scream at the sight of Hatomi Kugimiya's body, of Wato not too far away. She won't see Sara land awkwardly on her ankle, slipping in the rain as she scampers towards Wato's unconscious body.

She won't feel Sherlock slap her face. Won't feel her check for a pulse. Won't see her deduce the swelling and the bruising. Won't hear Sara screaming for a pen, for an ambulance, as she starts CPR on her. Won't see Mrs Hatano step in Hatomi's blood as she runs for her crossword puzzle ball point. Won't see Mr Wanijima dialling 119 on his phone as he rushes through the front gate.

Wato wont feel Sherlock cutting open her trachea with a piece of glass and inserting the plastic tubing of the pen into the hole made. She won't know the terror Sara feels as she breathes for Wato. As she waits for Wato's breath to come back.

How it takes 18 impossibly long seconds.

Wato won't know it's the greatest sound Sara's ever heard.

Wato won't know.)


	2. Tethered.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the fourth of December.
> 
> Every tragedy of theirs had occurred in the last month of the year. They'd lost their parents on the 8th. Aunty Sashi had died on New Years Eve.
> 
> And now Wato.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryoko Yonekura as You Know Who.

The phone wakes him.

He knows immediately that something is wrong.

His mind goes to Sara. The caller i.d says Kimie Hatano and Kento feels his heart leap into his throat.

"Kimie-san, tell me she's alright."

"She--it's, it's Wato."

He hears anguish in her voice, in the way she stumbles over her words. Something is terribly wrong.

"What happened? Are you at home?" He flings off the sheets and rolls off the bed. Flicks on the light. Blinks against it.

"She's been stabbed Kento. Sara--Sherlock had to cut her throat open so she could breathe."

_Oh god. Oh--_

"The ambulance just--they said they were heading to Nippon Hospital. Can you come get me before--I don't think I--"

"Yes, yes of course I can." He flicks the phone to speaker, hurriedly pulling off his pajama pants. "Did Sara go with them?"

"Yes, she--oh Kento, she's--"

He hears her shallow breathing. Knows she's trying to hold it in. His eyes water and he brushes a hand over them. He needs to be--he needs to get to them. He throws yesterdays shirt on.

"It'll be okay Kimie-san. Wato's strong. She has to be to put up with Sara--you know that."

She's crying quietly. Offers him a broken apology through her tears.

"It's quite alright--I'll be there in twenty, yes? Did you want me to stay on the phone with--"

"No, I--I need to call Wato's parents. Let them--oh goodness..." There's an audible sob. "I'm sorry Kento-san..."

His heart breaks.

"It'll be okay."

It feels like the hollowest sentence he's ever said.

\-----

_(His mind goes back twenty six years, to Aunty Sashi waking him up, well before his school alarm, pulling him out of bed towards the dining table, to where Sara already is, tired and scared and trying not to show it._

_He knew exactly what was wrong. Knew from the way Aunty stumbled over her words. From the way her eyes were already red and bloodshot. From the tissue box already sitting there in the middle of the table._

_He knew, and did not want to know.)_

Thinks, of course.

It's the fourth of December.

Every tragedy of theirs had occurred in the last month of the year. They'd lost their parents on the 8th. Aunty Sashi had died on New Years Eve.

And now Wato.

_No._

_She's still here. She's still fighting._

Please be alright.

Please be alright.

_Please._

\-----

He gets every green light on the way; makes it to 221 in sixteen minutes. Briefly wonders if someone upstairs is helping him out.

Kento shakes his head. What an inane concept that would be.

There's two police cars parked in front of the open gate, sirens flashing. One of the officers is stood still there, keeping the small crowd of neighbours hiding under their umbrellas from getting too close.

Kento parks and takes a few deep breaths.

Steps out into the rain.

\-----

"Hatano-san?"

Kimie turns her head towards him, forgetting the police officer she's talking to. Drops the bag she's holding and rushes to him, lifting her arms to envelop him in a hug. He needs it, and returns it just the same.

"They had a case," she starts, loosening her grip. Remains close. "The girl was--they interviewed her and she was fine. She was fine. I don't understand how this..."

Kento squeezes her shoulder as the tears appear in her eyes.

"Why the hell did Wato go out there?"

Kento's trying to follow. "Are they looking for the girl?"

Kimmie's face drops. "No. She's...outside. I stepped in her blood."

She's dead, he realises. "Wato fought back."

"Stupid girl. Stupid--"

Kimie breaks down and Kento tightens his hold on her, feeling her tears soak into his shirt.

\-----

Inspector Reimon arrives a few minutes later, with most of the situation already explained to him. Kento shakes his hand after he promises to stay at the house, to make sure their investigation runs as smoothly and as unobtrusively as possible.

"Keep me informed about how she--how both of them are. Please."

Kento tells him they will.

\-----

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, the very beginning of the predawn light showing in the sky as he drives into the car park at Nippon. There's an abundance of spots available and he pulls into the closest one. Knows they'll be here for a while.

Buys a ticket for a week. Pays no attention to the price and kindly turns down Kimie offering him her half.

They've got other things to worry about.

He needs to find Sara in this maze of a place.

\-----

The elevator doors open on the fifth floor, and he and Kimie step out into the low lights of the emergency surgical ward. They've been told there's a waiting room to the right of the elevators, that Sara has likely been directed to as well. Kento reads the overhead sign and heads that way, Kimie's bag in his right hand as she walks on his left.

Be strong for Sara, he reminds himself as he opens the door.

She's sitting on the floor against the far wall. Body angled towards the ICU doors, knees up to her chin and arms firmly around them. She's still in her pyjamas; he can see they're on the wrong side of being damp, her skin pale because of it. There's a blue towel slung around her shoulders, but she's shivering, and he knows he'll have to convince her to get changed. She's yet to notice them, despite the noise they've made.

He doubts she will.

He knows she's zeroed in on the doors, as if they're a lifeline keeping her tethered to Wato. She's waiting, and she won't leave here unless it's through those doors, to Wato. The best he can hope for is to get her warm.

"I might go find something hot for her to drink," Kimie says, hand at his elbow.

He nods. Appreciates her similar thinking. "Bring me back one too?"

"Of course. There's a towel in there with her clothes," She motions to the bag, "and a plastic bag for everything wet."

She finds her purse, then tilts her head lovingly to him. He does the same, before she closes the door behind her.

He turns his attention back to his sister.

She'd been helping Hatano-san and Wato in the garden when he'd seen her last. That was the first clue that something had changed between them. There'd been an underlying current of care in her actions towards Wato that day. It was nothing blatantly obvious, just minute happenings; a smile each time their hands touched; Sherlock picking stray clippings from Wato's hair and jeans; letting Wato drink the last of her lemonade.

As he'd left, he'd teased Sara about it, and she'd blushed and tried to hide behind her arrogant exterior, calling him a sap.

_("I'm glad you found each other, Sara."_

_She lets him hug her, despite her annoyance._

_Whispers a "Me too" into his shoulder.)_

God. They'd just found each other, for fucks sake. He can't believe this is happening to his dumb, sweet, little sister. To that even sweeter girl whom his sister loved.

He wants to punch--

"Kento?"

It grabs him. She's still looking at the door, but she knows he's there. He'd thought she was too far into her own head to, but she wasn't. Isn't.

"I'm here Sara."

He walks to her. Settles the bag on the floor and takes his jacket off. Sits down in front of her. His knees crack with the effort, and he remembers their fathers doing the same. Remembers he and Sara are both now older than their parents ever got to be.

His throat tightens in response.

Sara's loosening an arm from around her legs however, and he watches as her hand drops into the space between them. He covers her back with his jacket, then takes her hand carefully with both of his own. Tries to convey his love and support of her through her small cold hand.

Time passes.

He's about to coax her into changing when she says, "It's December."

He was hoping she'd--except she always knew.

"It is."

"I almost...being with Wato made me forget it was coming."

Her eyes are still on the door. Kento opens his hands to see that crooked little finger of hers; knows the cold is likely making her fingers ache.

"You won't ever forget Sara--you're just letting someone else in. That's all."

He watches her contemplate his words.

"I can't do this without her," she says quietly.

"You won't have to. She's strong, and more importantly, she's stubborn--more stubborn than you, which is a rare feat."

He hears her sigh.

"She got through a war zone Sara...she's going to get--"

"But I caused this!" She suddenly yells, her attention bearing down on him. "Hatomi was right there in front of me and I didn't connect the dots and now Wato's hurt!"

She tries to pull her hand from his. Tries to shrink away. She's covering up her hurt with anger. He won't let her; not now. She lets out a frustrated growl, at him, at the situation, but he simply shifts forward, pulling her to him.

"Get off me."

She resists, but it doesn't have the fury he knows she has when he's really stepped over the line. She's going to bend. He doesn't want her to break.

"No...you need a hug."

A moment passes, before she collapses into him, hands finding his jeans leg.

He loves her so very much. Can't stand to see her hurt.

"It's not your fault. You love her. This is Hatomi's fault, not yours. Do you hear me Sara?"

There's no reaction from her, as he expects. She's so cold. He has to get some dry clothes on her.

"Do you want to know what I saw when I first met Wato?"

There's a breath held, small, enough. The subject of Wato has done it.

He continues. "I thought, here's a girl who's willing to follow you around, so she can know the truth. Who's willing to put aside your rudeness, your inability to make a good first impression, to understand what has happened to her friend. That willingness showed great character. It told me she was what you needed. That's why I pushed you two together. She'd smooth your edges. You'd learn from her. You already have."

He doesn't mention he means her coming to the hospital for Wato. Doesn't mention Aunty Sashi. How Sara had avoided seeing her in the final stages, unable to deal with the hurt of seeing someone she loved suffer. How he'd been the one to nurse her on her deathbed. How he'd been the one to help Hatano-san after her appendectomy four years ago.

She sniffles. He knows she's holding in her tears.

"I hate this."

"I know you do...but she's going to need you. She's going to need you to not blame yourself. It's too much wasted energy. Alright?"

She doesn't answer. He knows that she'll still blame herself, in spite of anything he could possibly say on the matter. He plants a kiss on her head instead. It has the desired effect; she squirms away, clicking her tongue.

"Now, I want you to get changed--" he holds up a hand as she protests, "--its early enough so you might as well do it here."

He stands up, offering her a hand. Her eyes are wet. He watches her blink the tears away. She takes his hand and he pulls her up.

Which is when he notices her wincing.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She's leaning to one side, favouring her right leg. He reaches down and pulls the other pajama leg up. Finds her ankle bruised and swollen in the hospital slipper. He hadn't noticed while she was sitting.

"Your ankle's twice the size it should be," he says.

"It's fine."

"Sara."

"I can't exactly go back in time and not slip on wet grass now, can I?" She pulls out the mismatched clothes from the bag and looks up at him expectantly. "Are you going to turn around?"

He rolls his eyes. Does so. "I think you need an x-ray at least."

"I'm not leaving."

"Sara."

"I'm not." She unbuttons the last of her pajama top, sliding it off. Clips on her bra. "You wanted me to dry up, fine, I'm doing that. But I'm not leaving here until she's--until I can--"

The waiting room door opens suddenly and Sherlock ducks behind Kento, turtleneck to her chest. They both sigh in relief at Kimie holding three drinks in her hands.

"Did you get in contact with Wato's parents?" Sherlock asks, question muffled by the turtleneck as it goes over her head.

"They're getting the next available flight out."

"She's injured her ankle," Kento says, hoping Hatano-san will help him convince his sister she needs to get it checked.

"I know." She sets the drinks down on the closest seat and pulls a first aid kit out of the side pocket of the bag. "That's what this is for."

Sara pauses on one leg, jeans in her hand. "Is there any Bufferin in there?"

Mrs Hatano points at the damp pile of clothes on the floor. "You can have them after you deal with that, and after I wrap your ankle."

\-----

Over the years, Sherlock had managed most of her injuries by herself. There'd been a few times, however, when she'd asked for Kimie's help, unable to reach a wound, or simply because it was too close to a certain pair of birthdays or in the dreaded month of December.

Like it is today.

Kimie usually took her time during those moments, keenly aware of Sara needing something she could not ask for: love shown through the cleaning of scraped skin, through the wiping away of blood, through band-aids and bandages and _please be safer next time._

Now is no different. Sherlock's seated in such a way that she'll have to lean against Kento's shoulder and arm to elevate her ankle into Kimie's lap. It's completely deliberate, and the three of them know it.

She hasn't asked for the comfort gained from proximity, but Kimie can tell from Kento's look that he'll let her have it, for as long as she needs.

She will too.

So she waits for Sherlock to position her ankle while she partly unwinds the bandage in her hands. Notes the discolouration of the skin around the ankle bone, and the swelling. Kimie makes a mental note to go find some ice for the injury, later on when Sherlock is back with Wato. When things have settled. When they know for sure what's going on. How Wato's surgery went.

How much damage has been done to that stupid, impossibly sweet girl.

She loves that girl. Remembers her heartbroken eyes as she'd informed her Sherlock had fallen from the Reichenbach building. Remembers the guilt coming off Wato in waves, her head bowed, her voice low and cracking.

Remembers that gracious smile of hers, quick to the surface in the early days, willing to show her appreciation in ways Sherlock did not.

A foot wiggles in her lap, getting her attention. A decisive "Ow" follows right after.

Kimie shakes her head. Starts easing the bandage around Sara's skin, slow, properly. She hears an exhale from Kento. Sara's dropped her head backwards on his shoulder and he's dropped his head back to the wall.

It's going to be a long morning.

\-----

It's another hour and a half before the ICU doors open, a surgeon appearing in his scrubs.

"Sherlock, the doctor's here," Kimie says, shaking her leg.

Sherlock wakes and bolts upright on the seat, standing before she's fully ready to. Kento does the same and they stumble into each other, Sherlock grimacing in pain and lifting her ankle from the ground.

"How is she?" Sherlock asks, before Kento coaxes her into bowing for the doctor.

"Are you alright?" The doctor's eyes go to her ankle.

Sherlock tsks loudly. "Tell me Wato's okay, now."

He seems a little offput.

"Forgive my sister, Doctor?"

"Uranishi."

"Doctor Uranishi, my apologies," Kento says. "My sister is just worried about her gir--"

Kento catches himself; the pause goes on a beat too long for the doctor not to notice.

Sherlock straightens, defensive. Kento knows she's about to get loud.

Kimie steps forward. "Doctor Uranishi, we're worried. If you could please tell us what's going on that would be helpful to us." She adds a bow, held low.

He nods patiently. "I understand. Tachibana-san is stable. She's currently sedated and on a ventilator, to let her body rest. What concerned us most was the fracture of her thyroid cartilage, and the swelling around it. The cartilage was displaced which was causing strain to the muscles and the other cartilage in the area, which was then impairing her airway--who performed the cricothyrotomy?"

Sherlock half raises her hand.

"You did a fine job. Wato was unconscious but breathing when she got here and based on the info you gave the paramedics, the likelihood of oxygen deprivation to her brain is very slim. Your quick thinking saved her life."

Sherlock shakes her head, dismissing the praise. "You performed a tracheostomy?"

"We did. The ventilator's currently attached to it, but we'll get Tachibana-san breathing by herself in the next day or so once we bring her out of sedation."

"There's a difference between the two?" Kento asks.

"One's here--" Sherlock points to the hard part of her neck, then points further down to the soft skin at the base, "--and the other's here."

"Will there be any complications?" Kimie asks.

"Her immune system's compromised with the flu," Uranishi says, "so we need to take that into account. We'll perform a CT scan in the next seventy two hours to make sure there's no air in the chest or in the tissues of the neck. The ICU nurses will be able to monitor her until then. We'll also be checking to see if there's been damage to the vocal cords, but I'm afraid we cant do that until a significant amount of the swelling goes down. She's on carticosteroids for that right now."

"And the knife wound?" Sherlock questions.

"There's damage to the muscles at the wound site, and a small perforation of the ileum side of the small intestine. The knife being in there still was actually helpful--we were able to suture up each layer very nicely."

Sherlock rubs her face. "More scars."

"I'm afraid so," the Doctor says. "We had to make a four centimetre cut in her throat in order to attach a titanium plate to the broken thyroid, plus the crico and the tracheo will leave smaller marks. Our plastic surgery department does amazing work, if Tachibana-san decides to take that route."

"Can we see her?" Kimie asks.

"I'll get a nurse to come out to see you. Visiting hours are in the afternoon, but exceptions can be made for patients just coming out of surgery."

"Go do that then." Sherlock says. Adds a _please_ after a look from Kento.

"Of course."

They bow to one another before Uranishi leaves them, the doors swinging closed with a secure click.

Sherlock drops into the seat closest, sagging in relief, in exhaustion, in pain. Kimie and Kento sit down on both sides of her. Sherlock reaches out to grab both of their hands.

Kimie squeezes gently. "You saved her Sara."

Sherlock's blinking rapidly. Trying to rid herself of her tears. Kimie watches one escape from her eye, watches as she drops her head onto her brother's shoulder. He looks at Kimie over Sherlock's hair, worried, minutely shaking his head.

Kimie realises the subject is a sore one. She won't mention it again.

\-----

"Kento?"

He knows that voice. Recognises it in the back of his mind. Looks over at the door just as Sherlock whispers:

"Irene."

And there she is, nearly twenty years older, peering back at him in her nurses uniform, still just as glamorous and breathtaking as he remembers.

Sara's hobbling towards her, and he watches Irene's attention go to her, warmth and concern evident on her face.

"Sara Shelly Futaba, what in Gods name have you done to yourself?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You're Wato's nurse?"

"One of them. How long have you been in Tokyo? Are you sure you're alright? Has it been x-rayed?"

Kento laughs, moving to them. "Good luck with that."

Kimie's waiting politely to the side, curious. Irene smiles at her, and they bow together. "Irene Adler, pleased to make your acquaintance, despite the circumstances."

"Kimie Hatano. How do you all know one another?"

"Well, I dated this fool," Irene points to Kento, "while we were at college, and Sara--wait, are you still going by that darling name of yours?"

Embarrassment briefly colours Sherlock, before she nods. "I am."

"Yes, of course you are." Irene's attention goes back to Kimie. "Sherlock was a huge part of the Kento package...it seems as if she still is."

Irene looks at him, and he knows what she's thinking.

_("Kento," Irene says quietly. "It's hurting her."_

_"I don't care!" Kento yells, slamming his hand on the table. It's not his problem. It's not his problem Sara has developed--_

_"Yes you do. I know you do. I'm doing this for her sake, but I'm also trying to look out for you too. Because one day, it's going to get too much for her, and she'll shrink back the way she does, and I don't want that for you. I'm not going to be the reason you lose your sister."_

_Tears are prickling his eyes. "She'll get over it Irene. Please."_

_"She won't. Believe me when I say she won't. This is the right thing to do."_

_"I love you."_

_"And I love you...but your Great-Aunt isn't going to live forever Kento. You're going to be the only thing tethering Sara to the real world. If she loses you, then she's a goner. That has to be more important to you than us.")_

It had been. He'd made it so. He'd promised Irene he'd make it so.

He'd kept his word.

Sara's listening to Irene, but she's no longer hanging onto every word, the way she'd done when she was seventeen.

Things have changed.

Irene has. She'd been studying music. Now she's Wato's nurse.

He wonders if maybe--

"Hello, earth to Kento?"

Irene's looking at him, amused. Sara's arms are crossed. Kimie's politely patient.

"Sorry."

Irene chuckles. "Men."

"Am I going in, or do you want to?" Kimie quickly asks, and he recognises the hope in her eyes. Knows she needs to see Wato more than him.

"You go."

He looks at Sara, then Irene. "Do you know where I can find some crutches for Sherlock?"

"I'll call down to third and tell them you're coming. Just head for the main reception--they'll be able to get you a pair."

Her smile is bright, just the way he remembers.

"Will you take Sherlock's wet clothes with you?" Kimie asks, stepping back for the plastic bag.

"Just throw them away," Sherlock says.

"They're your favourite pajamas," Kento reminds her. "All they need is a good wash."

"No amount of cleaning will..."

Sherlock ends the sentence, her eyes locked to his.

He understands.

He takes the bag with him.

\-----

"The only thing I ask is that you keep your voices low, and if we need you to step out of the way then you do so quickly and carefully-- Kaneda-san? Could you please call down to third, tell them a man with a terrible goaty in a green jacket and jeans will be there for some crutches soon. Thank you."

\-----

Sherlock falters as soon as her eyes find Wato. Kimie grabs her around the waist, finding another arm doing the same.

"Easy now, Sara."

Kimie knows she can't hear her. Has spent over eight years trying to fight that absence, where Sherlock's too far gone to reply, to even notice. It's never been her fault, and it isn't now.

"Lets get her to the seat," Irene says.

They manage it, Kimie noting and politely smiling to the two nurses hovering nearby. She turns her attention back to Sherlock, her hand still held by hers, tightly, a necessary link.

A minute goes by.

Someone sets a chair behind her, ushering her into it.

She listens to the ventilator breathe for her friend. Hears a multitude of sounds coming from the other patients. A keyboard clicking away.

She watches Irene flutter around Wato, checking drainage tubes and IV's and screens and continuously writing on her chart.

And all at once, Sherlock startles out of her daze. The hold on Kimie's hand loosens; she pulls it away when she's sure Sara no longer needs it; no longer draws comfort from it.

She hears the chair scrape forward, closer, as close as Sherlock dares to get. Sees how slowly, how reverential Sara takes Wato's hand in her own two. Careful of the IV. Careful of somehow hurting her further. Watches as she leans forward, placing a careful kiss to a set of knuckles, forehead coming to rest by them.

Kimie hears a strangled apology, then a sob, then another, the floodgates finally opening.

A mornings worth of dread flows out onto a pale blue blanket.

The ventilator whirs and thumps on.

\-----

Sherlock hears none of what Irene says. Can only comprehend a buzzing in her ears, the world shrinking and shrinking and shrinking down to Wato, so small on the bed, dwarfed by the machines and wires surrounding her. Impossibly tiny behind the tube at her throat, under that blinding white bandage, the image so horribly wrong, so opposite to the memories Sara has of her that her bones give up immediately.

Something catches her. She leans into it, feeling it steady her as her head swims and her heart breaks with _Wato, Wato, Wato_.

She loves her. She loves her with everything she has, her blood, her bones, every single cell in her body. In every tiny corner and crevice of her bent and broken soul. Has loved her since _why do they call you Sherlock_ and _tell me_ and _I want to know_. Through breaking codes and flipped switches and kinked necks and recovering on the couch. Past held breaths and _you kept going with a grieving heart_ and the inability to look away. Via dropped chocolates and hidden knives and pure, complete wonder.

Jumping off the Reichenbach had sealed it for her. Her total disregard for her own safety had meant only one thing. There was no going back. There was no way of protecting herself -- protecting her heart -- from Wato, because it was already a lost cause.

She was already gone on her.

Except--

She'd broken her promise.

She'd promised Wato she'd never hurt her again.

She'd missed Hatomi. She'd missed the danger she'd posed and now Wato--

_(I'll never hurt you again. I swear it.)_

The memory is burnt into her eyelids. Her stupidity has resulted in Wato lying motionless in a hospital bed, with more scars.

Sherlock looks over at that bandage below Wato's chin. Has to, has to, has to--

Closer, to beg for forgiveness, for letting her mar that beautiful skin.

She finds a still hand. Will not harm it, will not hurt her again. Will never, will _never_ , will--

She kisses it. Drops her head to it.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive--"

Her tongue catches on the word, her chest expanding and exploding with grief.

It spills out of her.


	3. Irene.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows how important her family is to her. Imagines Kento and Sara are integral to each other in a way she'll never quite understand, not without some horrible disaster occurring to her family, the way it had to them. 
> 
> Sara needs him, will need him in the following years, much more than Irene will. She loves him, with the entirety of her heart, but it's no match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Ryoko Yonekura as the inspiration for my version of Irene Adler. Girl is absolutely perfect in Doctor X/Legal V. Watch them if you haven't.
> 
> Writing this chapter was challenging but I'm glad I did it.

Irene suspects.

There's a spark of something true and real and far too deep in Sherlock's eyes whenever they're together, whenever Kento is at work or has too much studying to do. A slip of a cello string or a bungled note when they play. A held breath when Irene is affectionate with her.

She hadn't helped the situation when she'd offered up permission for Sherlock to come to her apartment whenever school got overwhelming or Aunty Sashi got too bothersome.

Sherlock clashed with most people. Irene had dealt with it at first, this jarring presence of a girl by Kento's side, quick-tongued and aloof. She'd fought through Sherlock's walls because Kento had said his sister was the finest, most loyal person he'd known. It had taken a good six months for the girl to let her guard down, to understand that Kento wasn't suddenly lost to her now that Irene was there. That he was always going to be there for her.

Sherlock had visited sparingly, then regularly, then--

_No_.

Seeing Sherlock there on her doorstep never bothered her.

It worried her.

It's certainly a crush. She's felt the warmth from the girl; noticed the shy glances and the sitting too near and the uncertainty in Sherlock's eyes. Irene figures she may have encouraged it by deliberately showing that it didn't phase her. When she'd smile at that shy glance or pat that too close knee. When she'd answer Sherlock's _I should be going_ with _It's quite alright for you to stay_.

It's not until she comes home from her birthday celebrations with Kento and their friends, to find a dozen red tulips on her doorstep, that she realises the depth of Sara's feelings for her. A brief discussion had occurred months ago between the three of them while eating dinner, in which Irene had said she thought roses were overrated. Tulips were infinitely better. Kento had joked that he'd never get her flowers then if she was so annoyed by them. He'd gone so far as to make it a promise. Irene had found it oddly romantic at the time.

There's no card with the flowers, but the message is clear by the colour of the buds:

_I'm on fire with love for you. My feelings are true. Believe me._

What Sherlock wanted from this, she did not know. The most important people to Sherlock were her brother and her Aunt. Sherlock would never intentionally hurt Kento. Irene assumes the flowers have been an outlet for Sara, something tangible to express to Irene, a way to ease the inevitability of the situation. She knows Sherlock knows she loves Kento. They've shown their love for each other in front of her on numerous occasions.

It hurts Irene to think she's unknowingly hurt Sara in the progress of her relationship with Kento. She's an amazingly strong and complicated individual, but Irene loves her like a sister and understands why Kento holds her in such high regard. It had taken time to peel back the layers of the onion that were Sara Shelly Futaba, but Irene's glad she had, and she doesn't know how she's going to be able to communicate this new - no, this current development - to Kento, or even if she should.

It becomes evident to Kento that something is wrong, nonetheless; Sherlock has been distant for weeks, turning down multiple chances to visit Irene, to hang, to have dinner with. When Irene is over Sara stays in her room, blatantly so. She skips school and is combative with both Kento and Sashi on the matter. She starts sneaking out at night to god knows where.

It comes to a head one terrible night. Kento's out looking for Sara at three in the morning when she stumbles in, eye swollen shut, lip busted open, blood on her chin. She refuses to answer their questions, tries to pass both of them on her way to her room. Aunty Sashi slaps the undamaged side of Sara's face in retaliation, the three of them too stunned to move for nearly half a minute afterwards.

Then Sara's in tears, determined to reach the safety of her room. They let her go.

Sashi slumps down on the couch, defeated. "I don't know how to help her."

Irene goes to the kitchen and wraps a frozen bag of peas in a damp dishcloth. Slips into Sara's room, finding her already under the covers, crying, facing the wall. Too consumed by the shock of whatever's happened that night, of Sashi striking her, to protest Irene sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Here--hold this to your eye."

She holds the peas in front of Sara and sighs when they're taken from her hand. There's a brief hiss of a complaint, the sound seeming to jolt Sara from her tears into silence, the odd sniffle sounding.

Irene stays quiet for a long time. Wonders what to say. Wonders if she can make this right somehow. Wonders if it's okay to touch Sara still, to offer a reassuring hand to her arm or a squeeze there. Decides not to, just in case.

She lies down on top of the blankets instead, eyes to the ceiling. She's almost asleep when she feels the bed shift. Feels a hand slip over her wrist, in search of comfort. It draws her closer to Sara, onto her side, her arm following Sara's back to the younger woman's stomach.

She's hugged Sara a handful of times, brief, allowing her to slip away when she needed to. This is so far out of the wheel of her familiarity with Sara that she holds her breath until she can't anymore. It's the kind of comfort she's always wanted from her, from her future sister in law, this knowledge that they were safe with each other. It's what she'd been trying to achieve with her since she'd started dating Kento.

She loves her, but she knows it doesn't match what Sara feels for her. Won't ever match.

As if to further justify Irene's thoughts, Sara lets out a sob. Cries quietly.

Irene finds her voice.

"You're gonna be okay Sara. You just need to--you just need to get back to school and a proper sleep schedule and remember Kento and Sashi and I love you, and will always love you. No matter what."

"It hurts every time I see you."

Irene squeezes her hand. "I'm sorry--I don't mean it to."

Sara's sentence sticks in her head, replays itself the next day, and the day after that.

She knows what she needs to do. It's time.

Irene sits Kento down and tells him about the flowers and the feelings and her thoughts about it. She knows Sara is heartbroken; will remain so as long as she's in the picture. She can't have a repeat of Sara getting hurt by someone else. Can't stand by when the underlying issue is her presence in their lives.

He argues. Irene loves him for trying to fight to save it all.

Sara's wellbeing wins out. They break up, to save that sweet, intricate girl from herself. Irene's had the benefit of having her parents her whole life, of having them help her grow into a thoughtful, decent person. She knows how important her family is to her. Imagines Kento and Sara are integral to each other in a way she'll never quite understand, not without some horrible disaster occurring to her family, the way it had to them.

Sara needs him, will need him in the following years, much more than Irene will. She loves him, with the entirety of her heart, but it's no match.

She will not break up what remains of the Futaba family.

\-----

She gets through their split. Does a lot of thinking. Plays her piano a lot. Decides her heart's no longer set on gaining her music degree. She quits and her parents hit the roof. It becomes a point of contention between her and them. They stop paying for her apartment and bills in an effort to persuade her back to school, but it only makes her more sure of her decision.

She finds herself a job. Sells the furniture her parents bought. Her new wage and what she gets for all of it is not even close to half of that month's rent.

She hastily sells her piano. Only considers how much she loses with it after it's gone. Nights by herself before Kento. Breaks between studying. Kento caressing out a tune in the early hours of the morning. Hard pieces learnt, memorised, her fingers and wrists aching by the end. Sara's first compliment to her - _music is too simple for you_ \- in amongst a litany of chords.

She gets there in the end, barely, but knows she has to move. She finds a room for rent in Stanmore. Gets up early for the train and works long hours. Gets used to sharing bathrooms and bills and rent, and the noise and frustrations that come with having roommates.

She spends the next year or so jumping from job to job, one always lined up before she jumps ship, never really settling on a path for herself. Never doing anything terribly substantial, or noteworthy of the Adler name.

It's not until a man has a heart attack next to her on the Jubilee line that things get clearer. That she understands what she's meant to do. She watches an off-duty nurse perform CPR on him, her quick thinking and training the definitive reason he makes it through. She reads about it in the paper the next day.

Thinks:

_Yes._

_I'm going to be a nurse._

\-----

Irene does her homework, working out grades and schools and how on earth she's going to afford it.

She will not see her parents about it.

She's going to have to scrounge for every last cent. She writes up a budget for herself. Sells the last of her designer belongings and begins shopping frugally. Makes a detailed plan of action, with figures and dates. Uses the money she saves to enrol online for a Biology course for her A levels. She needs another on top of that to add to what she's already completed, most likely sociology, but she can't afford both in one go.

Lives on bangers and mash. Baked beans on toast. Doesn't go out with her flatmates to clubs or restaurants. Insists on paying her share but admonishes them for lengthy showers and lights left on.

She sticks with a job she absolutely loathes for twelve months so she can finish both courses. Gets the results she wants.

Applies to multiple universities. The one in Nottingham accepts her and she spends the rest of the day in tears, worn out but so proud of herself.

She phones her parents. They've kept in touch via voicemail, Irene too stubborn to answer and them too set in their sophisticated ways to do the same. She knows she wouldn't have gotten this far without the cold shoulder they've shown her. She tells them she's moving, that she's been accepted into uni, that she plans on being a nurse. She tells them that she loves them and ends the message.

\-----

She's in the last two months of her bachelor's degree when she gets a voicemail from her mother.

_Your father's in the hospital. It's cancer...he didn't want me to tell you. Please come home now._

She drops it all. Drives her shitty little Vauxhall home. Her father is on the waiting list for a bed in palliative care when she arrives. Irene realises, in the artificial lights of the hallway with the smell of bleach lingering around her, just how much she loves her Dad.

She sits with him. Holds his hand and her mother's. Never blames them for leaving it until it was too late. Loves them fiercely and unconditionally.

They get him to the hospice and his battle is over two days later.

\-----

Her mother makes the decision to leave London for Tokyo as Irene is taking her final exams. Irene thinks about her father and decides to follow. Asks her mother to wait until she's finished with school so they can go together. Her mother agrees.

She's grateful to have been taught Japanese by her as a child, even though she struggles at first with the language and the culture shock. She's visited before; once when she was eight and again when she was fifteen, but only for short periods, completely under the steady hand of her parents. Her mother gets a job as a business manager for a logistics company and settles back into her old circle of school friends. Irene is happy for her. They share the bills and the groceries and try to sit down to a meal together at least twice a week, working around Irene's long hours at the hospital.

Her work is rewarding. She never regrets the change of course of her life. Works her way up the job ladder with diligence and care. Deals with the death of patients in a straightforward manner, offering up support to their loved ones but maintaining an important distance. She thinks of her father whenever an older male comes in with complications from cancer. Knows his death makes her a better nurse. Hopes he is proud of her.

She dates. The majority of them are friends or relatives of her co-workers. They're all measured against an unnamed and invisible yardstick that isn't really unnamed at all. Years have passed; she's moved countries and switched languages and yet she still holds Kento Cornelius Futaba up as the perfect example of a gentleman. Her mother chastises her for it every now and then, worried, always concerned for Irene's happiness and this unattainable goal her daughter's set.

She finds Mr Right when she isn't looking. Strolls into Mikio Matsushima's music shop while killing time before a meeting across town. She hasn't played anything since arriving in Tokyo; hasn't thought about music in a long time; figures her prowess on the piano is long gone. She's surprised when it comes flowing back to her, flowing back out of her, her fingers gliding over the upright Yamaha's keys, confident and assured. Mikio flirts with her. She flirts right back. Buys the piano and asks him out on a date.

She plays. Works. One date turns into four. She forgets the invisible yardstick. She begins to love him. For who he is. For how he makes her feel. For who he is not.

She thinks of Kento each time she sits at that Yamaha, bare feet on the cold pedals. Wonders how he is. Wonders how Sara is. Considers the fact that their great Aunt must be gone by now. She hopes it was as painless as possible, for the three of them. She hopes the two of them are happy, wherever they are.

She'd made the right decision, after all.

\-----

She happens to get engaged the night her mother dies. Finds her cold to the touch in her recliner the next morning, having spent the night at Mikio's. A heart attack is the culprit. Irene never forgets the glint of the ring on her finger as she checks for her mother's pulse, knowing she will never find one.

The guilt swallows her first. She knows how to resuscitate people. She knows how to get their hearts working again. If she'd declined dinner with Mikio that night. If she'd declined all those dates. If she'd measured him against that invisible yardstick of hers. If she'd never walked into that music store.

Her mother would still be here.

She gives Mikio his ring back. He pleads. He fights. He resists for two weeks; goes to the funeral; sits outside the apartment; brings her flowers; does everything to support her through the physical and emotional walls she puts up.

Her efforts to drive him away work. She does not hear from him.

The grief swallows her next. She's allowed time off. Pins multiple bedsheets to the ceiling around the piano, so she doesn't have to see it, a symbol of everything now gone from her life. Goes days without showering. Without eating. She sits in her mother's recliner, never processing the days passing. Only ever thinking about those years she'd missed with her parents, back in London.

They're both dead. She'd never get the time, or them, back. The weight of that fact sits in her stomach. She misses her return to work. Can't seem to find the energy to care. She's sliding down into despair, into self-loathing, deep and unrelenting.

Then, one day, for some completely inexplicable reason, she thinks of those red tulips. Thinks of Sara, battered and bruised emotionally, but still willing to engage, even though the chips were stacked against her. Irene thinks of Kento, her first love, just as battered and bruised as his sister, but willing to fight on. Willing to love again. She'd loved the pair of them, and had been willing to lose them to save them. Had let go of them to save them.

She hadn't been able to save her parents, but she'd saved the Futaba's.

She holds onto that glimmer of self-sacrifice. Builds upon it slowly. Makes a promise to herself to be kind to herself. Gets herself out of that recliner. Into the shower. To work, to explain herself to her boss. To apologise. Profusely, as Japanese customs demand. She knows he knows she's a brilliant nurse, normally dedicated and conscientious.

She retains her job by the skin of her teeth but is demoted severely. Irene takes it as a positive.

She makes an appointment to see her doctor. Openly discusses her mental health with him and gets something to take. Cleans the fridge and goes to buy groceries. Pays overdue bills. Gets herself back into wake up times and meal times and bedtimes.

Throws the recliner out.

Pulls the sheets down and sits at her piano for the first time in months.

Calls Mikio.

Leaves him an apology.

Does not blame him when there's no reply.

\-----

It takes two years, five months and twenty-seven days before she gets back to the S-ICU.

Not that she's been counting or anything.

\-----

Three months later, Wato Tachibana is admitted. She's a simple patient with complex needs post surgery until Irene sees a familiar name in Wato's medical notes:

_Sherlock Futaba_.

No mistaking that name. Irene wants to go find her, but she has patients and a job to do which now includes settling Wato into the S-ICU.

The girl is pretty, despite her clammy and pale skin. Despite the bandages at her throat. Despite the circumstances. Irene wonders if her physical attractiveness matches her personality. Wonders about what has drawn this girl to Sara. Wonders if Sara's mellowed in the years since. Maybe this girl is tough with her. She's had the strength to survive an assault this morning. Maybe that strength is innate, a part of who she is.

Irene thinks if that's the case then Sara's probably met her match.

She smiles to herself. Adjusts the blanket around Wato and looks at her.

_You're gonna be okay. I'll make sure of it._

\-----

Kento is there with Sara, with a woman who introduces herself as Kimie Hatano, and Irene realises this Wato must be important to all of them. The combined concern and temporary relief are radiating off the three of them.

Have the Futaba's found a family of their own?

Yes.

It's not until she's catching Sara around the waist with Hatano-san, getting her to the vacant seat beside Wato, that she comprehends the extent of this revelation.

They have people that love them.

They have people that care about them.

She's certain this Wato means the world to Sara. Somehow knows through the sound of her sobs that the feeling is reciprocated. That this girl has made it past Sara's emotional baggage into her heart. Sara's faced up to love again and finally won.

Except Sara had nearly lost her. Irene's eyes water at the thought of Sara losing someone again. Can remember Kento subdued all through the December she'd spent with him. Sara absent for the most part. He'd explained it to her once; had specifically made December a time to grieve for his parents, leaving the rest of the year to get on with his life. To concentrate on his studies. On his job. To hopefully make them proud. Irene can't recall him ever openly grieving outside of the month. It was methodical. She's certain Sara had done the same, despite the two of them never discussing it.

Irene doubts she could be so regimented with her feelings. Some days were hard, her mother's death at the forefront of her thoughts. Others were good, Irene too busy or too upbeat to be dragged back into an emotional pit. Her mother's death had been a wound that had once been a bloody mess but had shrunken and healed with time. Some days it reopened. Other days she hardly felt it.

She hopes that today becomes just another day for Sara. For Wato. For Kento and Kimie Hatano. She hopes that justice is swift for the perpetrator. She hopes Wato recovers fully. Knows she can put her own experience and care into making it a reality, for the four of them.

Irene looks to Sara, head bent low against Wato's side. Hopes she can find love like that for herself.

Smiles at Kento coming to mind.

Maybe.

\-----

She informs her colleagues about the situation. They promise their best when it comes to Wato.

An influx of other visitors arrive. Two patients are released into their respective general wards. Irene is glad for them and their families.

Kento and Hatano-san take turns sitting beside Sara. She's better. Calmer. Has taken in her surroundings. Has read and reread Wato's medical chart. Irene makes her get up every hour, despite her ankle, to stretch her legs. She's completely exasperated by the aluminium crutches each time she does so; glares at Irene and Kento every time they chuckle.

"You can interpret complex medical sentences," Irene says lightly, "but you can't work out how to use two metal poles."

Kento laughs. "She broke her leg when she was twenty-three. Funniest two months of my life."

"And you got gastro later that year and legitimately thought you were going to..."

Sara's eyes shoot to Wato and Irene feels the humour leave with the unfinished sentence. She watches as Sara moves toward Wato, unsteady on the crutches, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Irene busies herself with a drainage tube before Sara can feel embarrassed.

\-----

"Didn't your shift end an hour ago?" Kaneda-san asks her, making her jump.

Irene looks up from the computer screen and nods at her colleague. Can see Wato in the corner of her eye, Sara now sitting on the side of the bed.

"You need your rest for tomorrow, Adler-san. We've got her."

"I know. It's just--I haven't seen them in a long time."

"Well, go get a coffee with _Terrible Goaty_ man, then. Catch up."

Irene shares a smile with Kaneda. She's Irene's favourite person to work with, has always managed to lighten the workload or to get Irene out of a midday slump with her humour, with a perfectly executed pep talk.

"Come on--go talk to him before I do."

Irene chuckles as she glares. "Don't even think about it."

Kaneda holds up her hands in surrender, eyes narrowing in thought. "He's important to you, isn't he?"

Irene nods. Decides to be honest. "He was the love of my life."

Kaneda's face softens. "Well, in that case...you know it's not too late, right? I didn't see a ring on his finger."

"I know--I just want Wato-san to get out of here for Sar--Sherlock and then...maybe I can go from there."

Irene sees Kaneda-san mull over her words. Wonders if she's guessed the extent of Wato and Sara's relationship. Irene's back straightens automatically.

Kaneda must see her sudden apprehension because she lifts a hand to Irene's arm and squeezes lightly. "My cousin Hiro lives with a man. He's never said anything either way, but it's clear they love each other. It doesn't bother me, okay?"

Irene exhales. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright."

"Sherlock was never the easiest person to--so the fact that she's found someone..."

Kaneda nods. "I get it. Now take that knowledge on and go reconnect with her brother. The love of your life, Irene."

"Okay."

\-----

She's in the process of bowing a goodbye to Kimie-san when she sees Sara limping around the bed, the crutches forgotten.

"Your ankle won't heal if you keep--"

Her sentence dies on the tip of her tongue when Sara wraps her arms around her and hugs her tightly. It's so unexpected Irene nearly forgets to hug her back. She won't miss the opportunity though. She quickly settles her arms around the shorter woman, already prepared for when Sara pulls away.

"I'm sorry," Sara says into Irene's shoulder, quiet, sombre.

It's an apology for her feelings from years and years and years ago. Irene won't have it.

"Time's moved us on Sara...you have nothing to be sorry for, okay?"

She feels Sara tighten her hold. She returns it.

She's missed the Futaba's.

Won't leave them again.

\-----


	4. Fault.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene sees Kento's jaw drop in the corner of her vision. She looks at him, wide-eyed, shocked, staring at his sister like he's never seen this side of her before.
> 
> Sara does not move from her position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how many chapters there'll be after this. I've kinda fallen out of love with writing in general and into the very beginnings of learning Japanese.
> 
> Also, Scandal Senmon Bengoshi Queen is very distracting...

There's a scratch on Wato's index finger.

Sherlock draws her thumb along the length of it, back and forth, back and forth.

Can't help but run through likely scenarios in her mind, of how the scratch came to be. Had the umbrella sprung back at Wato? Had the knife blade done it? Or had it occurred when Wato had fallen?

How had that umbrella hit the window at just the right angle to shatter it? Had Wato been aiming for it, in her terror? How had she managed to keep the knife--

Sherlock lets out a shaky breath, feeling her eyes water. She needs to--

Well, she doesn't know. She actually doesn't know what she needs to do. Time's inevitably moved past this morning's events; there are new nurses and other visitors now; Irene's gone, taking her secret stash of Kit-Kat's with her. Yet Sherlock's still trying to process what happened, still trying to sort it clearly inside her mind.

She'd heard the window breaking and had felt for Wato underneath the blankets. Her hand had stretched, fingers searching until they'd slipped off the edge of the bed. Everything from then on had been automatic, done without thought or consideration. She'd felt none of the rain, none of the pain at her ankle when she'd slipped.

Nothing but a devastating dread, deep within her gut. Unbearable. Crushing.

There'd been a level of expectation at the Reichenbach. Reimon and Shibata and she had set up a plan for the extreme end result, someone flying over the side of the building. She'd gone for Moriwaki knowing the safety net - the window lift - was there.

Finding Wato injured and unconscious, an anomaly in the December darkness, had felt like the earth being ripped out from underneath her feet. There was no safety net to latch onto, nothing to grasp at in the cold morning air.

She can't understand how she'd comprehended that dread while everything else had seemed like a blur. Her recollection is murky, is something she has to purposely concentrate on, because if she doesn't then--

The result of her not concentrating is right here in front of her. A hurt Wato. Damaged again. Hatomi Kugimiya had done the damage, but Sherlock had let it happen.

She's missed something important. Something integral to why Kugimiya was the culprit.

Sherlock works her way through the facts. Hatomi Kugimiya. Twenty-seven. From Hiroshima. Both parents dead. No siblings. She was the same height as Wato. Same build. Hair a little shorter than Wato's. A lighter shade of brown, like toffee. Ogata's file on her had stated she was dealing with depression and anxiety. She'd included Kugimiya in her list due to a meltdown she'd had at her local library, in regards to noise levels. Kugimiya had launched a shelf full of books in the direction of multiple children. She seemed to be a stickler for rules if Ogata's notes were to be believed.

Kugimiya had been at work the night Akae Ogata had been murdered. Had two alibis. They'd been adamant she'd stayed at work. That's as far as they'd pursued--

That was it, wasn't it? The alibis had to be a fabrication. Hatomi had shown her hand by coming to 221. If she'd never come, they'd still be--

Sherlock settles Wato's hand softly on the bed. Turns to Mrs Hatano. "Did you bring my phone this morning?"

Kimie peers at her, confused for half a beat, before leaning down into the bag she'd brought. Sherlock exhales when she sees her phone.

"What's wrong?" Hatano-san asks, handing it over.

"Work."

There's a message on it from Shibata, from three hours ago:

**_Kugimiya's alibis are rubbish. Reimon and I are sorting it. Best wishes for Wato's recovery. Take care._ **

Sherlock drops her head into her hands, clanging the phone against her temple. They've worked it out already.

The relief she feels doesn't last long.

She should've seen through their lies, should've known it was--

Mrs Hatano's hand comes to rest just below her shoulderblade. Sherlock leans back into it, feels it slip around her as she lets her head drop down to her friend's shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"Kugimiya's alibis lied for her. I missed it."

"She hurt Wato," Kimie tells her. Sherlock feels her inhale, then exhale. "That's her fault, not yours. You can't be on top of everything all the time, as much as you desperately want to be. You're not a robot, Sara."

"Wato nearly died because--"

"Wato survived because of you," Kimie interrupts. "Stop thinking that you failed her when you haven't."

"I did."

She's suddenly grabbed by Kimie, yanked into looking at her, eye to eye.

"Stop this now. I mean it. If you say one more thing about being the cause of why Wato is here then I'm going to slap your face. You don't want that again, do you?"

She recalls the last time. How stunned she was. She shakes her head. Knows Hatano-san will follow through with the threat.

"Now," Kimie starts, picking up her bag to rummage through it. Pulls out a packet of breath mints. "Have some of these. Your breath is ghastly."

\-----

Kento's passing the time with Jikkyou Pawafuru Puro Yakyu on his phone when it vibrates, Reimon's name appearing on the caller screen.

"Reimon, let me just find somewhere a bit more appropriate."

"Of course."

The waiting room is no longer empty. The man and the younger woman opposite him have been rotating with their fellow loved ones just as he has been with Kimie. They look up at him when he stands and Kento bows apologetically, exiting as quickly as he can.

The hallway should do, but he walks past the elevators to the next corner, settling himself against the walls. He'll keep his voice lowered. Will move on if need be.

"Thanks for that."

"Sorry I'm only getting in touch now, it's been a bit hectic. How's Wato doing?"

"She's sedated but stable. They'll wake her tomorrow or the next day."

"Oh, thank God. And Sherlock?"

"She's got a rolled ankle, and--well, she's better now that she's with Wato."

"I can imagine." Reimon sighs.

There's a long pause. Kento gets the feeling Reimon's stalling.

"You know," Reimon says quietly, "I never realised how good of a drawer she is."

He must be sitting at Sara's desk. There's a myriad of sketches pinned to the walls there. Kento's lips turn up at the thought of Sara scribbling away, but he's certain Reimon is holding back on something important.

Kento readies himself. "Just say it."

"We got a warrant for Hatomi Kugimiya's apartment. A nursery's been set up there."

Kento's stomach drops.

"Hatomi was pregnant?"

"She couldn't have been more than a few months along if she was. I'm afraid the post-mortem will likely confirm it, as much as I don't want it to."

Kento wants to swear. Would do so if he wasn't currently in a hospital hallway. Wato will be devastated.

"It was self-defence," Kento explains, to himself more than to Reimon.

"We're taking it that way Kento-san. It won't be official until we get a statement from Wato, but please know that no one that's been here today considers it anything else."

Kento rubs at his forehead. "Are you planning on telling Sherlock?"

"Yes--well, I'm not sure. There's a possibility Wato may have gone out there knowing Kugimiya was pregnant. She's a rational person, she would've understood the danger, so something must've been overriding that. It was either the pregnancy or she'd remembered how they knew each--oh wait, do you know that part?"

"They knew each other?"

"Yeah, neither of them could figure it out. Hatomi's alibis have folded, so it's likely she lied about not remembering Wato. We think that's why she went around there in the first place."

Yes. Of course. If Wato remembered her or knew she was pregnant, she would've helped the girl. Out of the rain, or out of trouble.

That stupid, kind-hearted girl.

"I'll tell Sherlock," Kento says. "She's gonna need to lash out at someone about it. Might as well be me."

"That's the thing I'm concerned about--if Wato worked the pregnancy out, then--"

"Sherlock should've worked it out as well."

Kento exhales. He knows his sister's missed it. He turns to face the corner and soundlessly swears a few times.

"She's going to need her brother for that part," Reimon states.

Kento agrees.

He'll have to pick his moment.

\-----

He's still considering his words when Irene enters the waiting room from the hall, a blue knit sweater pulled over her uniform, winter coat in her arms.

She's trying not to make eye contact with the people in the room as she bows to them. Kento realises she's here for him. His heart speeds up at the thought.

He stands and reaches her quickly, gets her back out into the safety of the hallway where she can relax.

"Did you wanna go grab a coffee with--I mean, not like a _coffee_ coffee, but a--"

"A coffee sounds good." He smiles. Remembers their first date. "Maybe one day you'll let me ask you out for once."

Irene laughs. Smiles that amazing smile of hers. "If I'd waited for you, we would've never got started. I did you a favour."

He knows it.

\-----

The late afternoon sky dims and dims until it's dark outside the cafe window. Irene had insisted they go across the street, saying there was a particular brand of coffee the hospital cafeteria didn't have there. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the bitterness to it, but he'd managed to eat some onigiri, so there's that.

And of course, there's Irene. Older, but still just as wise as he remembered. Sitting across from him, filling him in on her life. Her parents' deaths, and how she'd changed her life. He feels a swell of pride knowing she's found happiness in her profession. She was always a thorough person, dedicated and true. Now he can describe her as resilient as well.

"What are you grinning about, you idiot?"

He looks sheepishly at her. She'd been talking about--what had she been talking about?

"I was just thinking about how good it is to find you in Tokyo."

Her eyes brighten. She shakes her head. Chuckles. "I probably should stop talking about my co-workers, huh?"

He nods. Smiles at her smile.

"Okay, your turn again...what do you--"

His phone vibrates in his pocket as Irene says 'do for work', and he pulls it out as he apologises to her.

It's Hatano-san.

"Take it, Kento."

He does. "Kimie-san, is everything alright?"

"Are you downstairs at all?" Kimie asks.

"I'm across the street chatting with Irene. Do you need me to come up?"

"Wato's parents are in a taxi on their way from the airport, could you keep an eye out for them? I told them one of us would be down there at the main entrance to greet them, it seemed appropriate to do so, given the circumstances."

He's going to have to end his conversation with Irene. He finds he doesn't want to.

"I'll wander back over and wait for them."

"Okay, thank you, Kento."

"I'll see you in a bit."

He ends the call and stands. Irene does the same.

"Wato's parents?" Irene enquires.

"Yes. Guess they managed to get a flight."

He doesn't move. Neither does Irene. It occurs to him Irene doesn't want the conversation to end either.

"I can inform them of what's going on with Wato when they get here," Irene says quickly.

_Yes_ , Kento thinks. "That sounds helpful, actually." He'll take any reason right now to stay with her.

"Of course."

Kento grabs their empty bottles and rubbish. Decides he'll drink that bitter coffee again tomorrow if Irene asks.

\-----

Kimie tells her Wato's parents are on the way, reiterating the two visitors per patient rule as if Sherlock's forgotten it already.

She hasn't. She's well aware she'll need to go when they get here. She'll have to leave Wato's side, for who knows how long. Probably until Irene's back tomorrow morning. Unless Irene decides she'll have to wait until one pm, like everyone else.

Her breathing quickens at the thought.

She squeezes Wato's fingers.

She's seen with her own eyes that Wato's stable, that she's likely going to be--

Likely.

It's still not a certainty. There's her flu to worry about, and she knows people on ventilators are more susceptible to pneumonia. To fluid buildup in the throat. And who's to say there isn't any air in Wato's chest cavity, in her neck tissue from when she'd had to slice--

They can't say. The nurses will never say Wato will be one hundred per cent fine because there are complications and infections and so many things could still go wrong. Even Irene had talked around giving an actual promise.

("We'll watch her closely, Sherlock. She's in good hands.")

It's not a certainty that Wato will survive.

What is she left with, if Wato--

She swallows the lump in her throat.

Wato had called her mother the morning after Sherlock's reappearance. It had been clear from the resignation in her voice that apologising to her mother was a common occurrence. That the weight of failed expectations sat squarely on those slumped shoulders of hers. That it had been there for many years.

Sherlock had known there were difficulties. After Wato's confession to her about renewed purposes, she'd turned it over and over in her mind. Would Wato have depended on Dr Mizuno so much if she'd had a proper support system at home? Would she have gone to Syria in the first place? Had she felt like she'd had something to prove to her parents? To other people, by extension? To help others, when she herself had not been?

Wato had been quiet after that phone call. Too far in her own head for Sherlock's liking. She'd felt like calling Wato's mother back to ask her directly what exactly Wato had failed at, as their daughter. To make them understand that Wato was bright and brave and beautiful, despite whatever it was that they thought.

That she was worth cherishing.

Later that same day, she'd done her best to tell Wato that; had spoken it into existence with every kiss, with every single caress; had breathed love and life into her, as well as into the space they'd created for themselves; had spelt it out with her fingers and hands.

Three words and all it encompassed.

She's loved her every day since. Through actions or words. Through both.

Will do so every day, from now on, if she gets the--

Sherlock shakes her head. It's not a certainty.

It's not.

But they're her parents.

So she'll have to go.

She feels a keen ache for her own right now. Wonders if they would've liked Wato. Sherlock thinks about how she would've turned out, with their love, with their support. Without wrong decisions and metal fatigue.

Would Wato have liked that person Sherlock was meant to be? Would they have found each other in the first place? Would the instances and circumstances and misdeeds of others have lined up for them?

Her fingers ache at the thought.

Sherlock draws Wato's hand up, bending those healed fingers of hers around Wato's palm. Holds her hand to her lips.

"I love you," she whispers.

\-----

Wato's parents are not how Kento expects them to be. Despite the news about Wato and their subsequent efforts to get a flight, they're dressed impeccably, her father in a three-piece suit and her mother in a velvet coat and heels. He suddenly feels underdressed, and it's not from the fact that it's cold and he should've grabbed a thicker coat this morning. Kento's not going to judge them for their clothes, but he wonders if perhaps there's still a disconnect between them and what's happened to Wato. Maybe once they see her, they'll--

"Hello, Doctor Tachibana, Mrs Tachibana. I'm Irene Adler, one of the ICU nurses here at Nippon Hospital."

He watches Irene bow to them. Sees the way Wato's mother matches it, while the doctor barely tilts his head.

"And you are?" Wato's father asks, intensely gazing at him.

"Kento Futaba. My sister Sherlock is roommates with Wato-san."

It's the easiest way to explain it. He bows. Somehow he knows neither of them offers him the same courtesy.

"How unfortunate," Doctor Tachibana replies.

Kento straightens, his fists balling. Irene settles a hand to his arm.

"Perhaps I can fill the both of you in on how Wato's doing as we grab the elevator." Irene turns to Kento. "Futaba-san, how about you take the Tachibanas' suitcases for them?"

\-----

Irene has known the likes of Doctor Tachibana. Dedicated to the job. Keenly aware of their standing in society. Keenly aware of what they can get with such privilege. Too quick with a cutting remark when things go wrong. Expectations impossibly high.

She can name three she works with right now. Has gone toe to toe with them over patient care. Has learned when to back off over budget cuts. Has learned how to stroke their ego, offering a polite word when she's wanted to punch them square in the face instead.

She knows who he is.

So she answers his spitfire questions, anticipates what he wants to know and when he wants to know it. Goes through her recollection of Wato's surgery notes with him, what they've done for her in the S-ICU, and what will be done tomorrow. What Wato can expect in the days following.

He does not thank her. She knows not to take it personally.

The waiting room's empty when they enter. Irene presses the buzzer for the ICU doors.

"Hello, this is Nurse Zakaza. Which patient are you here to see?"

"Zakaza-san, it's Nurse Adler here. Could you let Wato Tachibana's friends know her parents are here to see her."

"Of course. Just give us a minute, Adler-san."

"Sure."

It's not long before the ICU doors open. Sherlock steps through on her crutches, her face betraying her weariness. Irene imagines Sherlock has been dreading this moment since they'd gotten her into that seat beside Wato. She'd offered her chocolate because she'd refused to take a break for food. Had let her use the lunchroom bathroom because it was the closest to Wato. Now she was leaving, reluctantly. Obediently. Like she knew the severity of a parent trying to get to a child. Like she knew she couldn't stand in the--

Wato's mother steps forward. Irene braces herself for something, feeling the tension rise.

"Are you the woman my daughter has been running around half of Tokyo with?"

Irene watches Sara nod, offering no other explanation but holding the woman's gaze. A moment passes.

Then Sara's bending at the waist, the crutches askew, her body almost parallel with the floor. Eyes down.

"I am deeply sorry for getting Wato hurt."

Irene sees Kento's jaw drop in the corner of her vision. She looks at him, wide-eyed, shocked, staring at his sister like he's never seen this side of her before.

Sara does not move from her position.

An open hand connects with her cheek before anyone can stop it.

\-----

Three voices erupt in anger.

Sherlock stands up, the side of her face stinging. Kento's looming over Wato's parents, using his height to intimidate as he yells. Hatano-san and Irene have both stepped in, three bodies now blocking her from danger.

She has to stop this now.

"Kento."

He's yelling, pointing his finger at Wato's father, who's yelling right back. Irene is telling Mrs Tachibana off for her actions.

It's far too loud for her.

She has to--

So she turns. Steadies herself on the crutches before retreating to the entrance.

"Sara," Hatano-san says, following her.

"I have to--it's--"

"Okay, okay."

Her friend grabs the door for her, both of them stepping out into the quieter hallway.

"Let me look at your face," Kimie says, hand coming up to her cheek.

Sherlock shies away from it, keeping her eyes down. She does not want to be touched right now.

"Leave me be, please."

Hatano-san drops her hand but stays close.

"Disgraceful," Kimie spits. "She had no right to--"

"She had every right to," Sherlock fires back.

"Sara--"

"Stop calling me that!"

Her voice booms in the hallway. The couple passing them startle and stop, both turning to eye her suspiciously. The woman lowers her hand to her--

Hatomi Kugimiya's face suddenly superimposes over the woman's. The memory of her standing in front of Wato and Sherlock, introducing herself to them calmly, just before Wato sneezed, floods Sherlock's vision. The hallway and Hatano-san and everything else disappears.

Hatomi's hand.

Her hand.

Low on her stomach, like--

Sherlock steps back onto her injured ankle, the pain shooting up her leg.

No.

_No._

Wato had sneezed. Wato had sneezed and Sherlock's attention had gone to her. Wato had coughed and sniffled throughout the interview with Hatomi, desperately trying not to.

Sherlock had been worried about her.

She'd been distracted, too distracted to pick up on a hand that signalled the whole story, clear as day.

Hatomi was pregnant.

Ogata was the father.

Akae Ogata had been in the way.

This was what she'd missed.

And now--

Sherlock was to blame.

She was.

Wato--

Hands grab her shoulders. Sherlock blinks, comprehending Kimie in front of her, speaking to her. Sherlock can't hear her, can't hear anything but a high pitched ringing in her ears.

She has to go.

She has to get away from here.

She has to get away from Wato.

It's her fault.

It's her fault.

Hatomi's dead and so is her baby.

Her own god damn parents are dead.

Wato nearly--

It's all her fault.


	5. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We can do this, Wato. I promise you they'll come a day when it won't feel so overwhelming, won't be so painful. Trust me on this, okay? I'm here and I'm standing on the other side of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5k.
> 
> My apologies for the delay.

Consciousness trickles in.

Her fingers and hands twitch throughout. They come off the blue blanket in search of something, in search of a thing Wato's drugged mind is yet to comprehend. Her hands get as far as the loose restraints will let them, dispelling the energy there, dissuading, before the process starts again.

Wato has no way of knowing the restraints are for her own benefit. The nurses have happened upon the aftermath of patients pulling out their intubation tubes, while under sedation. While coming out of sedation. They avoid it at all costs.

No matter what.

It's more important than PTSD. More important than the trauma sustained in a hospital room blown apart on the other side of the world.

In the back of an ambulance, a statement of these seemingly important facts had been made by a frantic woman on the verge of losing the thing she'd just found. The statement had been made and then forgotten by two emergency workers, more concerned with the current physical ailments of the patient. Stab wound. Airway obstructed. Full-blown flu a future risk.

Those were the dangers.

Those were the things to concentrate on.

Now, there's no one at Wato's bedside to question procedure. To explain.

The frantic woman is gone.

She is lost to the wind.

\-----

As soon as Kento's eyes had found the discarded crutches and bag in the elevator, he'd known.

Sherlock had figured out Hatomi's pregnancy without him telling her, as he'd planned. She was smart. It was only a matter of time, really. Leaving the ICU had jarred it into view, into focus, and she'd used Kimie's kindness to distract her, to have the space to disappear.

She was gone, with Kimie's purse. They'd driven around. He'd thought she might've decided to hobble home. It was less than two kilometres. She was stubborn enough to try it. Would've been worked up, angry. Too distracted to pay attention to the fact that she was in slippers without a coat on.

She was nowhere to be found.

She is nowhere to be found.

He's slept maybe two hours. Had woken to noise on the other side of 221, thinking maybe it was her, back now, having calmed down. A loose corner piece of the plastic covering the window had been the culprit. He'd felt like punching through it. Had barely stopped himself.

Fucking Hatomi Kugimiya.

\-----

Being held in place seeps into her psyche.

Wato hallucinates monsters towering over her as she struggles to get away. Dreams of infected people screaming, dying, piled up at her feet. Imagines Tokyo burning, her own hands striking the match. Sees the North Star growing larger, brighter, burning her eyes and skin.

Feels the bomb blast over and over again, suspending her in guts and dust.

Watches, unable to move, as a familiar person falls, hitting the pavement in front of her, blood splattering across her face and chest.

Again and again and again.

And then:

Noises around her.

Brightness.

Blurry shapes, colours floating in front of her.

The slow forming of pieces of info, like the comprehension that something is at her throat.

In her throat.

Wato's senses kick in, her fingers tingling as the blurs meld and reshape into two faces.

Women in white.

Wato lifts a hand upward and is stopped. Something is--something is holding, something is--

"Wato-san, can you hear me?"

The woman in white on the left. Wato peers at her.

She's--

This is a hospital.

She's in a hospital.

She flexes both arms on instinct, lifting them and getting nowhere. Opens her mouth and--

The other woman in white bends closer. Wato feels something on her shoulder. "Wato-san, you've had an accident and--"

She doesn't hear the remainder of the sentence.

There's a blur of something familiar forming further away, behind the nurses. Something that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as it shapes itself, as it becomes what it once was.

Doctor Irikawa.

Smiling at her.

Holding a dead baby.

"Hello, Wato."

\-----

Irene is not one of the nurses with Wato. She's upstairs instead, arguing for her job. Arguing for Kento and Hatano-san to be allowed in the ICU again. For Sherlock too, when she resurfaces.

Because of Wato's father. Because of his influence. Because he'd decided to make a call, to assert his position above them on the totem pole.

She's running on four hours sleep, four less than usual. Sherlock's whereabouts had plagued her downtime, had kept her up, despite Kento's hollow assurances that his sister would turn up tomorrow with her tail between her legs.

Irene has never forgotten that night Sara resurfaced, face bloody. Seventeen years old and already so world-weary. Already so defeated, physically and emotionally. She'd caught glimpses of it today at Wato's bedside; had seen it seep out into the waiting room, her stoic friend bending under the weight of it.

She knows it's engulfed Sherlock now. It's sent her running from the familiar, out of reach of things she could damage. Kento had explained the case. Had explained how Wato was hurt by a woman, pregnant and likely out of her mind. Now dead. Hatano-san had commented on Sara's actions, from the moment she came barrelling into her garden, to the strange look in her eyes before she'd taken off.

It was a mess. And now the hospital -- no, her boss -- was caving to the demands of a father too concerned with his crushed ego to understand what his daughter needed.

The family she'd made around her.

So Irene argues beyond what she knows her boss will accept. Decides that Wato will be the patient to make a stand for. That she will not accept a suspension for simply defending Sara from Wato's parents.

This is a hill to die on, she decides.

She's fired on the spot.

\-----

The hospital refuses to allow any of them in the door. Security is called multiple times on Kimie Hatano, who only backs off once the police are called. Reimon and Shibata sort it out, unable to persuade Irene's former boss Arimoto they mean no harm.

Wato remains isolated from them, unaware of anything other than her parents' side of the story.

Irikawa continues to talk to her, relentless, insidious. Wato fights to find her own voice again after the removal of the breathing tube, her vocal cords failing to reset to normal. They seize up in the presence of the nurses and doctors, and especially in the presence of her parents.

Wednesday turns into Thursday and then into Friday.

It doesn't get any better. Her voice, when it works, is hoarse, like she's been screaming for days. She misses syllables, breathes parts of words when she shouldn't. There's a tremor to her voice that she can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much she tries to calm herself.

Her father barely conceals his contempt at the situation, his annoyance clear. Her mother is sympathetic in their moments alone but aloof in the company of others.

It doesn't matter, Wato figures.

Irikawa is starting to make sense.

Wato's worn out enough to listen.

\-----

He's so mad at her for doing this. Can't believe she's done it after everything with their parents -- goodness, after everything when she was seventeen.

He'd thought she'd understood how thoughtless, how cruel it had been then. He distinctly remembers her apologising, actually forming words of sincerity instead of her usual conveyed silences, once things with Irene had passed. It'd been so unusual, so unlike her that he hadn't known what to say in return. He'd nodded dumbly and informed her what was for dinner, and that had been the end of the conversation.

And it wasn't just him concerned for her well-being. Kimie was in her kitchen, cooking to keep busy, banging around and slamming cupboards in frustration, in fear. Reimon and Shibata were calling every few hours and had the local police keeping an eye out for her. Irene's spent nearly every waking moment here at 221, or in the car with him in the hope one of them might spot Sara in a crowd.

He doesn't know how Wato's coping. Reimon hadn't been able to get much out of her. He'd likened it to stage fright. Irene had wondered if it was psychogenic, a result of Tuesday morning's trauma. Reimon had talked to the surgeons; they'd dismissed the possibility of Wato's vocal cords being physically damaged, the swelling in the area down as well. Irene was likely right.

Kento knows Wato would be having an easier time if they were there. If Sara was there, more specifically.

At least she's out of the ICU.

If he sees Wato's father again, he'll--

"I can hear your teeth grinding from here."

Irene's looking at him from Sherlock's couch. Her phone balanced on one knee, in case a call came. Remnants of Kimie's reheated dinner on the couch beside her.

"If that spills," he says, pointing, "Sara will kill you."

"I can guarantee she'll be dead by your hands long before it gets to that."

He sighs. Agrees completely.

She hadn't been at any of the places he'd stopped at or gone back to today. Hadn't been at his place. Irene had insisted they leave it for the night, eat something despite the late hour, so here they were. Her on the couch and him at Sherlock's desk, hoping something in his line of sight might give him a clue to her whereabouts.

Nothing has jumped out at him. There's no addresses or points of interest.

Nothing other than the realisation that his sister likes drawing random plants.

Well, that's not entirely--

Kento stands suddenly.

She has a sketchbook.

She's had several over the years. There must be some--

How the hell had he--

He'd rushed into her room on Tuesday night, expecting to see it in a mess, like Sara had rushed home and gathered her things. Nothing had been touched. A pair of pants were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The drawers and cupboard doors were closed, as neatly as Wato kept Sherlock's room, now that they were together.

His sister had been unorganised before, work notes and folders and books and clothes piled around the bed, for easy access. Living with Wato had tidied his sister up, had steadied her mind.

Kento knows he'll be able to find those sketchbooks when he gets up there.

Thanks to Wato.

"This is a bad idea," Irene says, standing in the doorway as he searches the wardrobe. "They're probably private for a--"

"Damn her privacy! She doesn't get to dictate my actions when I don't know where the fuck she is."

Irene's eyes widen. He immediately regrets his tone. The language used.

"Sorry, Irene. That was..." He trails off.

"Pretty shitty."

It's clear. Concise. Kento's heart drops when he realises Irene might leave. That he has no idea how to remedy it. How to remedy any of this.

He needs her help.

He needs--

Irene steps into the room, looking around. Moves toward him, eyeing the bedside table.

"Does she have a false bottom in one of the drawers?"

"For what?" Kento asks, checking the top one. "She never did drugs."

"Firstly, she told me she tried pot when she was fourteen, said she felt too scattered on it, and secondly, you do know there are such things as sex toys, right?"

Kento pulls his hands away from the second drawer, eyes shooting to the ceiling.

"Nope, nope, nope--"

"I see you're still an English prude." Irene shoves him out of the way, inspecting the drawers. Sighs when she finds nothing.

Except she's leaning further over it, inspecting the side of the table for something. There's a lamp there, and a stack of books and Kento thinks:

Surely not.

"Oh, there it is," Irene says, her hand finding it.

Kento hears a click. Can't quite believe it when the top of the table moves towards Irene, the lamp and books still in place, completely balanced by the metal slides underneath.

They've found Sherlock's sketchbooks.

It's ingenious.

It's completely his sister.

He's going to absolutely kill her.

\-----

She's surprised how easy it had been.

Her parents were gone for the night. The nurses were checking on her only every hour, now that the shift had changed.

The old man across from her had clothes in his wardrobe, had been doped up enough to not bother her. His pants were too big at the legs, but it was nothing a little roll-up couldn't fix. There was nothing she could do about his shoes.

She's already tripped twice.

"You were always so clever, weren't you Wato?"

She nods at the Doctor, sitting beside her in the backseat. The bloodied dead baby is still in her arms.

The taxi driver hasn't looked at her in his rear-view mirror once.

She's nothing to him.

She pulls the old man's coat around her tighter, to comfort herself.

It doesn't matter much anyway.

\-----

The sketchbooks are dated, because of course his sister would be particular about that. He finds the latest one and sits down on the bed, letting Irene take the rest as she settles beside him.

Its a snapshot of the year gone by. Sketches of Reimon. Shibata holding a baby, arms completely outstretched and unamused. The cherry blossoms. A man and a dog on a park bench. A crowd of people in front of a train. Feminine hands, cuffed, resting in a lap. The looming front building of the University of Tokyo.

Then Wato.

Small, eyes downcast, a suitcase beside her. Reading a book in what would become her chair in the sitting room. A detailed sketch, outside, conviction in her eyes. Pout in the hallway.

The next one looks to be from the night they'd gone to Yoshiyuki Takai's and discovered Moriwaki's welcome note. It must've been been a moment before he'd gotten there. Wato's poised. Head bowed, eyes closed. Something grips his heart as he takes in the delicate and deliberate shades and strokes of her face. In the care and attention it must've taken. Sherlock has captured her love for Wato in the sketch.

"Wow," Irene says quietly.

He looks up to find her regarding the sketch, and suddenly wishes he had the talent to draw.

"I've missed you," he blurts out.

She looks up at him, eyes widened before her surprise settles into warmth. Into amusement.

"I've missed you too, K-corn."

Her head is on his shoulder before he can protest her old nickname for him.

He lets the silence linger.

"Did you ever find out what happened to her that night, with her eye?"

Kento sighs. "No...it wasn't something I wanted to dwell on."

Irene hums. "She was better though, afterwards?"

His sister had been, eventually. She'd gotten back to school and a routine and they'd gotten on with it.

"Things got back to--well as normal as they could be without you there."

Irene says nothing in response.

Kento looks down at the sketch of Wato. Sees the love Sherlock has for her. Wonders if she'd realised it as she was drawing her.

He flips the page and stiffens immediately.

"Kento..." Irene says near his ear, the weight of her head leaving his shoulder as--

Wato with a gun. Pointed directly at them. As it had been at Sherlock.

He'd gotten a call that day from her, afterwards, telling him what had happened. What she'd planned with Reimon and Shibata. That Moriwaki was in custody now, but she still needed to lay low. For Wato's sake.

She'd begged him to keep it quiet. Had stayed at his apartment while Wato and Hatano-san had grieved for her, thinking she was dead.

"Kento, what happened?"

Irene's looking at him with a furrowed brow, worried.

So he tells her the complete story, right from Wato's doctor friend to the day at the Reichenbach. How Wato fit into the plan. Toru Moriya and the virus. Sara's phone call to him and the hiding afterwards. Her reunion with Wato near the train station.

"And this Moriwaki is still in custody?"

"Yes. Sawashima Pris--"

His phone rings in his pocket, startling him. Reimon's name is on the screen and Kento's heart jumps into his throat.

Please, please, please--

He puts it on speaker. Will need Irene if--

"Kento-san, I'm at Nippon right now--we got a call from a Nurse Funai who was concerned for Wato's well-being, apparently she's been missing for the last hour and the hospital's been--well, I don't know what the hell Arimoto was thinking, not notifying us. She's not there, is she?"

Kento stands, the sketchbook falling to the floor as he hurries towards the bedroom door. She could be downstairs. Could be hurt. Freezing. Outside.

"Tell me she's not trying to walk back here," Irene says, following him.

"We're not sure what's going on," Reimon continues. "But she's definitely not on hospital grounds. I've called for the patrols in the area to focus in on the streets leading back to 221. There's a unit--"

Hatano-san's opening the front door to two police officers as he bounds down the stairs.

"They're here."

"Kento," Kimie calls out, her voice breaking as she peers up at the officers in horror.

Oh god, she thinks--

He reaches for her and says, "It's not Sara, Kimie. This isn't that. They can't find Wato."

Kimie looks up at him, the worry in her eyes changing. The officers step out of the cold and quickly close the door.

"Are you there, Kento?"

Reimon's voice comes out clear from the phone still in his hand, and he holds it out in the middle of the group gathered.

"Sorry, Reimon, the officers are here."

"Inspector, we're about to search the property, after approval from--"

"Please, please, it's fine," Kimie interrupts, ushering them through the hallway towards the backyard.

"Have they gone?" Reimon asks.

"Yes," Kento says, looking at a worried Irene. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"Funai's adamant Wato needs a psych assessment."

"She's just been attacked," Kento replies. "She's allowed a little leeway."

"Kento-san, she's hallucinating Moriwaki."

Kento stops breathing for a moment. Exhales only when Irene's hand slips into his own.

"What do you mean?" Irene asks.

"Funai caught her talking normally to an Irikawa," Reimon continues. "But there was no one else in the room."

"You said Wato was struggling with her voice," Irene counters.

"She was. Except now I don't know if it was an act, or--"

"Wato would never deceive people like that," Kento says. "This Funai's lying."

Irene squeezes his hand. "Inspector, the rule book goes out the window after a traumatic event. I'm certain her symptoms are some sort of dysphonia. Why the hospital hasn't..."

She stops. Kento sees certainty flash across her face. "Her father's blocking an assessment, isn't he?"

"Funai believes so. She was removed from Wato's ward yesterday. The rest of the staff have clammed up and we can't get anything out of them."

"That's Arimoto's doing," Irene says, anger flaring. "Bastard."

Kento squeezes her hand back.

\-----

She's down to her last 1000 yen.

Well, Hatano-san's last 1000 yen, technically.

She hadn't dared to use any of her cards. Knows Reimon will be tracking them. He'll be tracking her phone as well. She knows it's full of messages from her family anyway, missed calls and voicemails she does not want to hear.

Sherlock shakes her head.

She doesn't want to think about them.

Just wants to sleep.

Could probably sleep, if Daigoro wasn't snoring so loudly.

Her ankle's throbbing painfully as well. She'd run on it to get away from the hospital. Had continued to run and walk on it, using the pain as punishment for getting Wato hurt.

For screwing up.

She doesn't want to think about it.

Can't stop thinking about it.

Sherlock pulls the coat around her tighter. At least she's gotten used to the smell of it now.

Won't ever get used to this cold.

She can hear the rain hitting the river, hitting the concrete overhead as the cars pass. It's likely going to get heavier, but she's dry for the time being.

Daigoro definitely has sleep apnea.

She'd kick him if she was a crueller person.

Sherlock laughs, finding no humour in it.

_If your ankle wasn't singing out in pain, you mean._

She closes her eyes.

Pictures her parents, nothing more than dust in the wind, swirling around Mt Oike. They'd found parts of them, of course, enough to have to bury, but not enough for simple identification. Sherlock had chosen the former imagery to latch onto, her ten-year-old mind smart enough at the time to understand speed and velocity and aluminium-breaking force, but not mature enough to cope with the deadly result.

Her parents in pieces.

So dust it was.

Is.

Tomorrow, it'll be twenty-six years since their deaths. The memories she has of them fade each and every day, as more time passes. She hates it, absolutely loathes it with a blinding fury she rarely lets herself feel.

It isn't fair.

None of it is fair.

_Go to sleep, you stupid fool._

Thirty-six snores later, she pulls her phone from one pocket and the battery from the other. She can be quick about checking the time. It's late enough that maybe they'll miss tracing her.

It's 10:37 pm.

Twenty-five years, three hundred and sixty-four days, thirteen hours and--

Her phone vibrates in her hand, message bubble appearing.

It's from Kento.

**Wato's gone missing from the hospital, please call me.**

The screen shuts off as everything else on her mind disappears.

\-----

"I'm going to wring her neck," Kento spits out, slamming on his indicator and taking the corner way too fast.

"Well, you can't do that if we don't get there in one piece."

He looks at Irene briefly, then at the speedometer. Eases his foot from the accelerator.

"I'm going to kill her," he says, in a more even tone.

"No, you're not. You're going to hug her and never let go."

He does just that, eighteen minutes later. Leaves the car idling at the red light, running through the intersection like a mad man towards Sara's limping silhouette down the street.

She's in pain, soaked through, leaning heavily on a metal fence post to walk. She demands to know where Wato is, what the hell is going on, even as she collapses into his arms and he carries her back to where Irene's haphazardly parked the car.

"Kento, tell me right now what the--"

It ends in a terrible scream as Irene checks Sara's ankle in the backseat.

"For fuck's sake, Sara, there's no way this isn't a grade 2 injury now! You ran on it, didn't you?"

"I don't care about that!" Sara fires back angrily.

"Well, I do!" Irene bellows, louder. "Your family's been worried sick about you, again I might add, and you can't see past your own goddamn nose to see how your actions affect them!"

"IT'S ALL I EVER SEE! My parents are dead because I couldn't shut a fucking door properly! The love of my life nearly died because of me!"

Neither he or Irene respond. She's a ball of pent up rage, her anger radiating off her. Her eyes are watering, but he knows she will not cry.

She takes a few deep breaths. Brushes a fist across her eyes.

Bottles it back up again.

"Sara," Kento says, reaching a hand out to her between the front seats.

She does not take it. Glares at him instead, shivering badly.

"Look, she's my only priority right now, so I need you to tell me the rest of what you know."

"We're talking about this later when things have settled down." His voice is certain, unwavering, serious.

"Fine--just...please, Kento."

He tells her the rest of it.

She's suddenly paler, pained by his words.

"Get to the Reichenbach Building now."

\-----

The rain doesn't let up.

\-----

There are two police cars parked at the front entrance, lights flashing.

"No, no, no, no..." Sherlock cries, already half out the car door before Kento's even stopped.

His phone is ringing in his pocket.

It's Shibata. Kento spots Reimon's car up the street.

He slips it back into his pocket and hurries after Irene and Sara.

Please be alright, please be alright, please be--

\-----

Her ankle's screaming at her as Irene and Kento get her into the elevator, up the last emergency set of stairs, and onto the roof.

The pain goes away the instant her eyes see Wato on the ledge.

She's right where Sherlock had grabbed Moriwaki. Right where she'd flung them over the edge. Lined up exactly with the piping, where she'd found that rose.

There's a coat over her clothes. No, someone else's clothes. Everything is hanging off her, too large, too un-Wato-like.

She's soaking wet.

Sherlock flashes back to Mitsuki Kurata standing against the sky before she'd chosen Morkiwaki over her life. Except the ledge is smaller now, and if Wato--

"Sara, you need to be quick."

She hears Irene's words, but they're far off, echoey. She understands them, though.

_The cold can kill her too._

Shibata and the officers are spread out in a semicircle. Reimon's talking to Wato from a forty-five-degree angle, but her head is turned, attention near her as if someone's there. Sherlock feels ice slide right through her bones at the sight.

It's true, then.

Moriwaki's here.

She's just as real, just as dangerous to Wato as the flesh and blood version had been.

There's nothing to latch onto this time. Nothing for Reimon and her to distract. No physical being to apprehend. The only frame of reference she has in defeating Moriwaki will not work this time.

Sherlock feels the bile rise in her throat.

She swallows it down, along with the panic.

She has to do this.

There's no other option.

She stops beside Reimon.

"I can't get any closer," he says. "She saw one of the officers with an umbrella and...it was the worst noise I've ever heard from a person."

Sherlock squeezes her hands into fists. It does nothing to relieve the ache she has in her chest.

"Any ideas?" Reimon asks.

There's the spark of one forming behind her eyes, a tiny speck of a possibility she might be able to use. It had--

_Yes._

She can't fight Moriwaki, but she can fight for Wato.

"Maybe one."

She takes a breath.

"Wato, can you look at me please."

Eyes turn her way. The warmth she's used to is gone. She'd been a zombie the last time she was here; a blank canvas made of manipulation -- made for manipulation. Now there's an overload of feelings, too much there, too much for her to bear.

She's too close to the edge.

It only further justifies Sara's plan.

She'll have to be quick.

Her ankle explodes with pain as she runs directly for the ledge as best she can, a cacophony of _Sherlock's_ and _Sara's_ reaching her ears. She notes Kento's voice the loudest, the most concerned. She turns to look at him once she's at her destination, metres still between her and Wato, but on the same footing.

"You know I can't do this without her," she explains, holding up her hand when he takes a step forward.

He says her name again, begging.

"In case this goes wrong, I just want you to know you've been the greatest brother a girl could have, and that I love you. Please let me do this."

Sherlock turns her head towards Wato, focusing in on her, letting Kento and the rest of it all fall away.

She'd heard her scream her name that day. Afterwards. Had felt it rip through her insides as pain bloomed at her hip. Shibata had wrestled Moriwaki into submission, but that scream had rendered her motionless, unable to think of anything but. It had rung in her ears for hours afterwards.

The look Wato's giving her right now is an embodiment of that scream. It's heartache and fear and grief, down to the bones of it.

And because of it, Sherlock knows she can save Wato.

"Wato, I'm gonna tell you the rest of the story now, okay? I just want you to listen. Can you do that for me?"

A head nods, bewildered.

"On the 3rd of December 1992, when I was ten, I slammed my parents left side rear car door on two of my fingers, breaking them on impact."

She holds them up for Wato to see. Chances moving forward, biting her tongue for relief from the pain.

Wato's noticed her injury, eyes narrowing.

"Due to this accident, my parents cancelled and then rescheduled their flight to Tokyo for Daddy's business conference. A brief holiday had been planned before and after the conference, but due to their late arrival, their itinerary space shrunk. Short on time and wishing to still see their friends, they chose to forget the train and instead fly to--"

"Osaka."

Wato croaks it out as Sherlock says it, each syllable catching, the memory of their conversation recalled. There's no frustration with it, only resignation, as if she's given into the affliction already.

Sherlock's throat tightens. She'd hoped Wato would--

She thought maybe Wato's voice would be okay with her.

Water is getting in her eyes, or maybe she's crying. She isn't sure which.

_Don't lose it now when she needs you._

She takes a breath.

"So I know what guilt does. It sears a hole through you, sharp and steady. It makes you do things without proper thought. It makes you run from the ones you love when they need you the most. It can make you do dangerous things."

She pauses. Chances another step.

If she keeps this up, she'll bite her tongue clean off.

It doesn't matter. Only Wato does.

"Some days it's all I think about. Sometimes seeing a plane in the sky or on TV can turn a good day into a terrible one. I'll see someone my age with their mother and it'll sting. But the pain, the guilt--it's settled over time. It no longer outweighs the good in my life. My brother and my Great Aunt helped me with that."

She's mid-step when Wato shoots up a hand and breathes out a 'no'.

Sherlock stops. Watches as Wato's head turns away, towards something. Someone.

Its two metres.

It feels like the world.

"Moriwaki's just your conscience, Wato, burdened by what's happened. I need you to realise--"

"I'm no-t like you."

Wato turns back, staring at Sherlock. Her teeth are chattering. "I can't just--forget they're...."

The word remains unsaid.

Everything wrong -- with Wato's voice, with where she is, with Morkiwaki here -- leads back to this.

"I know," Sherlock says calmly. "I think--if this was truly something you wanted to do, if you really wanted to..."

She pauses, feeling the words gnaw at her insides.

"...kill yourself, you would've found a way at the hospital. Part of you knows this isn't the way."

"A baby wo-be born--cause of me."

Wato struggles with the entire sentence, her eyes looking down to the street below as she mentions herself. Sherlock forgets to breathe.

"Wato, if anyone's to blame, it's me. I didn't catch on to Hatomi or consider she was--"

Wato interrupts with, "I was--sick. I distrac--ted you."

"Then we're both to blame. We both fucked up. And in time, we can learn to accept it. We'll help each other with it."

Wato shakes her head. Sherlock all at once realises she's crying in the rain. She's so incredibly pale, shivering badly in the cold weather.

She needs to get her down now.

She takes a step forward.

"Sto-p," Wato warns.

"We can do this, Wato. I promise you they'll come a day when it won't feel so overwhelming, won't be so painful. Trust me on this, okay? I'm here and I'm standing on the other side of it."

Sherlock steps forward, pain replaced by ease as Wato lifts her hands for her, decision made, her own feet moving forward for--

"Get off that ledge right now, you stupid girl!"

And all at once it goes wrong.

\-----

These are the facts:

1). After years and years of domineering behaviour by her father, Wato will reflexively shift away from him mid-step.

2). This change will direct her foot to the lip of the concrete ledge.

3). She will lose her balance.

4). Sherlock will see this and

5). Grab for her as she slams the entirety of her weight down on her ankle.

6). The ligaments will tear the rest of the way with the force.

7). Sherlock will feel it, and

8). Disregard it, too busy with

9). Using every bit of forward momentum she has to push Wato sideways and away from danger, even as

10). The movement changes her own direction, away from the building into the night sky.

\-----

Wato will fall backwards, into something, as the realisation hits.

\-----


	6. Statement. Fact. Finality.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Reimon's called again, to ask. Has been calling every Thursday since New Years, when her mind had been on Wato and Aunt Sashi.
> 
> Her bank account continues to have a weekly supplement deposited into it, some obscure stress leave she knows she's not entitled to. It's Reimon's doing, as clear as day.
> 
> He needs an answer. 
> 
> She's been avoiding it, even though she knows.
> 
> Has known since the Reichenbach.
> 
> Since Hatomi and the missed baby.)
> 
> \---

(These are the other facts:

1). Kento has disregarded his sister's wishes,

2). Hugging the periphery of Sherlock's vision, keenly aware of his sister's tendency to focus exclusively on one thing.

3). Reimon has followed his lead and has inched sideways, and then towards the back of Wato.

4). The sound of the rain and the wind have masked their footsteps and their positions.

5). When it goes wrong, they're close enough.)

\-----

Something grabs her leg.

The rest of Sherlock's body swings down towards the side of the building, her shoulder smacking concrete.

"Help me, help!"

It's her brother screaming.

(He didn't listen.

His reflexes were always better than hers.) 

\-----

She's pulled up by a multitude of arms, her eyes searching, searching, searching until she finds the pair she wants.

She scrambles through the bodies for Wato, pulls her into her lap as she breaks.

"I've got you now," Sherlock chokes it out amongst her tears. "Its gonna be okay."

"Ira--ira--," Wato stammers out, her focus on the ledge. "Won--t go."

"She will." Sherlock tilts Wato's head up carefully, searching for her eyes. Feels her heart settle when Wato takes her all in. When her eyes calm a little. "I'll fight her with you, for as long as it takes, okay?"

She drops her forehead down to Wato's.

"Swe-ar?" Wato whispers, voice barely there.

Sherlock holds her tighter.

"I swear it. For the rest of my life."

Wato sags a little in her arms. Sherlock's not sure if its relief or something else.

An arm wraps around her in the next moment. Sherlock recognises Kento's watch, glowing in the dark.

It's 12:03 am.

The 8th of December.

Twenty-six years.

She returns her gaze to Wato, brushing her nose with her own. Holds tighter to her.

She needs to let her guilt go, for the sake of helping Wato with hers.

So she does.

\-----

She never lets go of Wato.

Holds onto her as their wet clothes are cut and peeled from their bodies, as they're bundled up together in warm blankets and hot water bottles in a new hospital bed.

("Ken--to kiss..." Wato breathes out, exhausted.

Sherlock splays her fingers against Wato's back and turns her head towards her brother and Irene.

They're lost in each other. It's completely gross. 

She turns back around and makes a gagging sound. Wato taps her hip, eyes drooping. She's on an IV drip. She'll be asleep soon.

"She was Kento's girlfriend, back in London. I was also horribly in love with her."

Wato's eyebrows raise, but she sighs, eyes closing instead. "Too--whe--n I..."

Sara doubts she'll remember any of it.

She'll tell her again anyway.)

\-----

Wato has a chest infection. The IV drip remains in her arm.

Sherlock's torn the CFL and ATFL ligaments in her ankle. It's immobilised in a big black boot that takes up half her leg. A new set of crutches is provided to her, much to her chagrin. 

Sherlock stops calling it overkill when Irene threatens to tell her nurse friends to cut off her pain meds.

\-----

Wato's parents are not told of her whereabouts.

She has a panic attack when Shibata says her father was arrested for refusing to obey police orders. Sherlock chews him out afterwards for it, demanding he and Reimon think before they speak around Wato.

"It's imperative he stays away," she states. "I expect you two to do this courtesy for her, no matter what your boss or anyone else says on the matter."

Reimon promises as Shibata nods.

\-----

Wato's treated remarkably well by the specialists checking her voice and speech issues, their patience and temperament helpful and a guide by which Sara promises to herself to follow.

Wato listens to Irene explain at length what a laryngoscopy involves, her trust in her immediate, as if they've been friends for years. She's sedated during the procedure, Sara holding her hand while Irene holds the other.

("Thank you for helping her," Sara says quietly, as they wait for the drug to wear off.

Irene shrugs. "She's a sweet girl. Sweetened your bitterness, I think."

Sara looks at Wato, asleep, lost to her for now. Feels her throat tighten as she takes her in. 

"You can tell me about her if you want."

She looks back to Irene; there's a kindness to her face, a patience there that she remembers missing. Her old friend is offering her a chance to talk.

To help.

Silence envelops them, Wato's ECG monitor steadily beeping. Sara counts thirty-six of the sounds before trusting herself to speak.

"I kept her at arm's length. Did everything I could to keep her from seeing inside me, and she still..."

Irene waits quietly.

"She still got inside. She still liked what she saw."

Her tears come then. She thought she'd left them up on that roof.

Irene grabs the room's tissue box and unceremoniously sets it between them on Wato's lap.

"Wato won't mind," Irene quips. "She told me so herself."

Sara can't help but laugh at the dry humour. "You're an idiot."

Irene grins. "I missed you too.")

\-----

There's no significant damage to Watos vocal cords or the area around them. The surgeons at Nippon have done an adequate job, correcting the misplaced cartilage.

Irene's guess is correct. It's psychogenic, something Wato will have to work through.

\-----

The psychologist allows her to stay with Wato during the assessment the next day, as long as she plays music through Kimie-san's headphones and keeps her eyes from anything written.

Wato tells her about it later, via paper. Her Moriwaki hallucination is a severe reaction of her PTSD, to the recent events. She's been given a referral and relevant info. Is incredibly open to the help offered to her.

Moriwaki hasn't won.

"Is she still here?" Sherlock asks Wato later that night, as they lie on her hospital bed.

She feels Wato nod on her shoulder, sees her pointing to the empty seat across the room.

"What can I do?"

Wato grabs her pen and note pad.

_I need to see my parents._

Sleep eludes Sherlock that night.

\-----

She holds Wato around the waist as she stumbles her way through her words, her parents unwilling to accept Wato's wish to remain in Tokyo. To accept her and Sara's relationship. Her father throws his weight around, tries to get the Futaba extended family expelled from the hospital, but this time he's unsuccessful, his threats unheeded by this hospital's director. 

"Have a good life," Wato's mother concedes to her daughter on the way out with her husband.

Sherlock spends the rest of the day drying Wato's tears, helping her through another two panic attacks, comforting her with platitudes.

It comes as no surprise when her chest infection worsens into pneumonia and the hospital stay extends.

\-----

(A security system is installed at 221. Kimie and Kento tell her that night in the hospital cafeteria, long after Wato's fallen asleep.

"I don't want your house to be a fortress," Sherlock says to Kimie. "I won't ask that of--"

"She needs to feel safe--and you need her to _be_ safe." Kimie grabs her hand, getting her point across. "That's what I want, okay?"

Sherlock hugs Kimie around her crutches, before she leaves for the night.)

\-----

The window is fixed and the stone steps cleaned when they get home. Wato avoids them and the garden and that entire side of the house.

Sherlock brings her Kimie's cooking from the kitchen. Cleans out the apartment fridge of all her toxins and experiments gone wrong. Has a new fridge delivered when she realises it's unsalvagable and unsafe for food storage. Goes grocery shopping with Kimie to fill it up, the older woman buying a new set of pots and dishes for them.

("No experiments, Sherlock...if you put her in the infectious diseases ward I'll kill you.")

She comes down the next morning to find Wato cooking an omelette at the stove top. Makes note of her avoidance of the kettle, a pot of water boiling instead. 

She's not really in the mood for eggs, but she accepts the plate, content just to feel Wato drop a kiss to her head.

\-----

Sherlock waits patiently on the bad days. Makes sure pen and paper are within reach in the rooms Wato frequents, in case this silent version of her wants to communicate. Sometimes she uses them. Sometimes a day will pass with Wato conveying nothing at all.

Sherlock lets these days go, and encourages Hatano-san to do the same. Wato's on medication, seeing a voice therapist and talking to a highly recommended -- and thoroughly checked out -- psychologist on a regular basis, so it's progress at least.

\-----

She's been told to do nothing about the nightmares. Can only coax Wato to her once she's woken herself out of them, confused, scared, crying. Up until then, she has to wait; try to minimise Wato hurting either of them with a violent kick or swing; force herself to endure Wato's whimpering or the unmistakable muttering of names she never wants to hear again.

\-----

Time and patience and love calm the storm. 

It's early February before Sara realises, in amongst Wato's grief and guilt and fragmented thinking, she's loved Sara back just as hard.

Watos helped her upstairs, down hallways, and out of seats. Has retrieved fallen crutches and walking sticks, grabbed at careening arms trying to balance, kept close just in case. Has demanded, through verbal and non-verbal cues, that Sherlock do her ankle exercises. Has lifted that offending body part into her lap on countless occasions, to strap or unstrap the ankle brace her family have demanded Sara wear.

("If you're not going to take care of yourself," Kento retorts, "then how can you possibly take care of Wato?")

She'd had no reply to his clear annoyance of her lapsed self-care.

She'd promised to do better.

For Wato. For the love she'd offered, in the small and big actions.

For the unspoken feelings still there.

\-----

"You do realise helping you with your physical therapy is helping her too, right?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at Irene. "Well, her doing it instead of you would free up some time for that boyfriend of yours and the non-existent jobs you both have."

Irene twists Sara's foot in response, enough for her to hiss as Irene says something about black pots and kettles in English.

"I'm serious, Sara. She asked me if I knew any good books or reference material on it...I think it would be good work for her."

Later that day, she'd watched Wato massage and inspect her ankle, purposeful, quiet, thinking.

She needed to encourage this. Wato was a helper. It was a part of her. Maybe this--

Irene's right.

She takes Wato's lapsed library card that Friday and renews it, joining at the same time. Leaves both cards on her desk where she knows they'll be seen.

Wato doesn't breach the subject until they're lying in bed, in the darkness on their separate sides.

"I don't--know if I ca-n go to a li--brary..."

Her voice is catching, the way it does when something is bothering her. Sara sets her hand beside Watos, their pinkies touching, as she realises the problem for the first time.

_The library...you fucking idiot._

"After the...after the Shii-ii..."

Wato growls in frustration. Sara loops her pinkie over Wato's, feeling her heart thump wildly in her chest.

"I'm sorry. It never...I'm sorry, Wato." Sara bites her lip, long and hard. Tastes blood.

_You fucking, fucking idiot._

The next time she sees Irene, she's punched on the arm, deliberately to hurt.

"How are you so smart, and yet so incredibly obtuse?"

A bruise had bloomed, and she'd poked at it for the rest of the week, to relay the pain to her head, to remember.

Her actions and her words could hurt Wato.

\-----

Despite her blunder, the determined look was still there the next time Wato helped Sara.

\-----

"Can you get some--books from the--library? For me."

Sherlock stops chewing her dumpling. 

Nods quickly, before Wato changes her mind.

She piles Watos plate with more food as Wato reaches for her laptop, library website already open.

\-----

Their kisses have been brief, mostly pecks of greeting, of saying goodbye before a scheduled appointment. Sherlock hasn't dared to push for more, happy to let Wato take the lead, to give her space on the other side of the bed.

So she forgets -- no, chooses not -- to mention Valentine's Day. Wato doesn't need the pressure of the day clouding her recovery. She's not sure if Wato even knows it's approaching; her head's been buried in a postoperative orthopaedic rehabilitation book for the last three days, and they've long since stopped watching the tv or listening to the radio. The only source of current events lately has come from Hatano-san, and Sherlock had asked her not to mention the day within earshot of Wato.

But she knows. Sherlock comes home from the bookstore, Florence Peterson Kendall book in her bag for Wato, to find the sitting room lit by candlelight, music playing, her favourite Kimie-cooked meal and Wato waiting for her.

It goes no further than a slow dance and a prolonged kiss after dinner, but it's just what she needs.

"Thank you," Wato says softly into her neck.

Sherlock's eyes find the book on the coffee table, and she says, "Another book to find a place for."

Wato stops dancing and lifts her head. Sherlock feels her hand squeezed.

"I meant for..." Wato pauses, looking down, and Sherlock knows she's searching for the right words, as opposed to struggling with them. "For the rest of it."

Sherlock kisses her temple in reply.

\-----

Two days later, she ruins their rebuilt world with an offhanded comment about quitting her job. 

(Reimon's called again, to ask. Has been calling every Thursday since New Years, when her mind had been on Wato and Aunt Sashi.

Her bank account continues to have a weekly supplement deposited into it, some obscure stress leave she knows she's not entitled to. It's Reimon's doing, as clear as day.

He needs an answer. 

She's been avoiding it, even though she knows.

Has known since the Reichenbach.

Since Hatomi and the missed baby.)

Wato looks at her, incredulous. Pointedly puts her book down and walks out of the sitting room, slamming the door.

The cold shoulder lasts until the next evening. Wato erupts, her voice breaking over her words, all the work she's done with her therapist lost in an instant. She throws her book across the room in frustration.

"It's w-who you--are," Wato manages, jawline set like concrete.

Sherlock bristles. "It's not who I am. I can do something else, Wato. Something not dang--"

"I won't--let you."

"You won't let me?"

Sherlock knows she needs to be the rational one. The one to calm them both down. This can't be healthy for--

"I can't ruin this--as well," Wato gets out. "This is per...permanent."

"No, losing you is permanent." Sherlock's eyes water and she blinks the tears away. "I don't give a fuck about my job anymore. It hasn't even..."

She stops. Looks around for her phone. There's an email for Reimon she'd started, some stupid thing that said too much for her to ever send. She hobbles to grab it and begs Wato to sit down on the couch. To just listen.

Reads it all in one go.

"Inspector Reimon Gentaro, I, Futaba Sara Shelly, otherwise known as Sherlock, hereby offer you my written resignation from my position as detective consultant to the Metropolitan Police Department. Recent events have forced me to understand that my personal life is now more important to me than my professional one. I have enjoyed working with you. I have appreciated your kindness and your willingness to stand up for me. The work has been engaging and enriching, and beneficial to who I am as a person.

I'm afraid, however, that these positive attributes of my work have now been overshadowed by the dangers of our work, as I have recently experienced. I have fallen deeply in love. She has become the cornerstone to my happiness, the lighthouse to which I follow. I cannot bear the thought of losing her, as I nearly did. I cannot bear the thought of how close it came to reality for me. I cannot allow the possibility of my work interfering with her well-being again. The importance of my work to me now pales in comparison to her. It is simply nothing."

Sherlock blinks. Feels the tears on her cheeks. Looks at Wato as she runs her fingers over them. "It's too much, too personal to..."

Wato stands and steps to Sara. Lifts her hand up to caress her cheek. Sara leans into it, closing her eyes.

She hears Wato clear her throat. Inhale quickly and deeply. A breathing exercise.

"I love you," Wato exclaims on the exhale.

Sara opens her eyes. Sees it for herself, looking back at her.

"Do you understand why I have to quit?" she asks.

Wato sighs. A tear spills out of her eye.

Sara brings her hand up to wipe it from her, as Wato leans forward to kiss her.

It's slow, soft, a balm for their fight. Hands wrap around her, but Sara notes the lack of an answer from Wato, her own arms stilling before they follow the move.

"T-take me upstairs," Wato whispers against her lips.

Sara pulls back. "Wato...do you understand?"

"I'm try--ing. I think...if you show--me I c-can."

Sara can see it in her eyes. There's a willingness there, a hope to be on the same wavelength as her.

Sara finds Wato's hand and squeezes it, moving towards the door.

\-----

She's kissing her way towards Wato's pajama bottoms when she sees the scar. She's gotten used to the ones on Wato's neck, has seen them heal and fade in the past two months. She hasn't seen this one since the hospital. 

Before the assault, Wato had regularly laid down on their bed, Sherlock palming the toner over the raised skin on her back. There's an unspoken agreement of sorts between them now. Wato has remained covered up, the cucumber toner untouched in the bathroom. Sherlock, in turn, hasn't asked about it, agreeing to play dumb, as if the enjoyment and peace she'd gained from their ritual didn't matter.

As if it didn't feel like the knife had been stuck in her too.

There's a gentle tug on her hair, Wato's fingers at the nape of her neck. Sara looks up to find those eyes she loves already on her. They're an anchor in the storm of the past, grounding her in the present. 

"I'm okay," Wato says carefully. "It's just another--part of my story."

It sounds very much like something her psychologist would say. Sherlock supposes if thinking that way helps Wato, then--

She looks back down to the scar. Fingers are rubbing lightly on her scalp, a lovely and loving movement. Sherlock leans forward and places a kiss to the mark, her tongue grazing the marred skin. She kisses it, again and again, wishing she could make it disappear. But she can't. All she can do is concentrate on loving Wato, to soothe the pain.

She turns her focus back to the garment in her way. Frees Wato from it, after an awkward stumble over a pant leg. 

Wato's laugh rivals the greatest symphonies.

Sara drags her eyes slowly up Wato's naked body, taking in the sight. She's grinning shyly, amusement dancing in her eyes, and Sara knows she's going to love this woman for the rest of her life. 

Her mind snaps to Wato in a white dress, flowers in her hand.

Except--

"It's not legal," she says out loud, her tongue betraying her.

"What's not?" Wato asks.

"Ah--how beautiful you are." She offers Wato a cheesy smile to cover herself, knowing the thought of the future is too complicated right now. "No one should be this beautiful. It's a crime, really."

Wato gives her a look that says _I know you're lying_ , but her hands are on her shoulders nonetheless, urging her to stand.

"I thought I was gonna rock your world on my knees," Sara jokes.

But Wato's already unbuttoning her pajama top in concentration, trying to even up the balance of clothing. Sherlock rushes to drop her pants at the same time, the material catching on her ankle brace.

Wato laughs again, leaning down to help, unstrapping the contraption at the same time.

"What a pair we are," Wato says before Sara kisses her, bringing their bodies together.

Sara hums her agreement.

\-----

"No, n-not that..."

Wato's hand is shaking in the space between them, Sherlock immediately shifting back on the bed, giving her space. She'd gone to move over--

That was wrong. She thinks of Wato coming to bed and pulling the bedsheets out from the sides. How being in a crowd of people on the way to her voice therapist had sent her into a panic attack.

"Sara?"

She blinks back to reality. Sees Wato crestfallen. "We can stop if you--"

"No--just..." Wato pauses, grabbing hold of Sara's hand. "Maybe like the first time?"

Wato in her lap. Not held down. Free to escape if need be.

They've been like that since. Wato had liked it that way the few times they'd used the strapon; Sara had bought it online on a whim, four days into their relationship; had been unsure until Wato had said she was willing to try something different.

The memory of using every bit of leg and back muscle she had as they'd fucked with it makes her ankle ache.

"I'll have to sit..." Sara says, settling herself with her legs out. 

Wato's answer is to move onto her lap, soft legs sliding over hers.

\-----

Her hands find their way all over Wato's body as she kisses her deeply. She palms Watos breasts, grinning when the action pulls a moan from her. Their teeth collide, tongues seeking the others in a perfect dance.

Sara slides her thumbs over Watos nipples, once, twice. A third time comes with a hiss, Watos lips pulling back.

"You drive me wild," Wato mumbles, eyes burning with want.

"Likewise." 

Sherlock kisses her briefly, before sliding her lips over a chin. Wato lifts her neck, always in sync, as Sherlock kisses her way down it. She can feel Wato canting her hips forward already, in need of something there. 

She'll give it to her soon.

Her mouth slips further down to a nipple, pert and ready for the taking. Sara makes use of her tongue on it, then her teeth, then her tongue again to soothe. Palms the other breast attentively as she switches between the two.

Watos moaning, sighing, mewling. It's a call to Sherlock's ears, to her heart, to the centre of her. Her arousal increases with every note, building in the low of her stomach, and lower still. Two months without this connection, without her--

Watos hands are caressing, sliding, finding their way as well. A pair of wrists settle in the space between her neck and shoulders. Fingers slip back into her hair, intoxicatingly light at the top of her neck.

Wato always did that. Knew it was a turn on. Knew Sara liked her hair being played with during sex.

They have memories of this. Of them. They have experiences to draw from.

It makes it sweeter, sends the best kind of thrill up and down her spine.

Sara opens her eyes. Looks to Wato, her gaze steady.

"I love you."

Statement. Fact. Finality.

Wato smiles. "Love you too."

\-----

Her fingers massage Wato's clit softly, Wato crying out more than once. She rolls her hips more vigorously towards Sara's hand, but Sara keeps her touch subtle, teasing as her lips kiss along Wato's collarbone.

Then, without prompting, she slides her fingers inside of Wato. Hears the delicious sigh of approval, feeling it hit her core, her own arousal pooling further. 

\-----

Her other hand finds its place, on the small of Watos back. She alternates between teeth scraping and tongue licking, Wato rising and falling with every curl of her fingers. Their moans mingle together. Wato curses, begging her to go faster, for more. 

"Not yet," she gets out.

Her hair is pulled enough for her neck to shift back, Wato glaring at her as she keeps moving. "I hate you."

Sara recognises the perfectly spoken words, heavily breathed but correct. Smiles. Keeps the pace even. 

"Savour it," she says, kissing beneath Watos chin. "Enjoy my love for you."

Wato moans. Continues meeting Saras hand.

Sara licks at the glistening sweat on Watos chest. Feels herself throbbing for her, moving harder against the bed, trying to get purchase on anything there.

A hand disappears from her neck. Sherlock expects Wato to grab at her arm and try to speed things up. Instead, Wato's fingers find her clit, circling it quickly.

Sara moans, rolling her hips forward. Wato looks victorious. 

She kisses the grin off her face.

Speeds up her fingers anyway.

\-----

Wato loses all self-control, sliding closer as she forgets Sara's clit, as she closes the space between them. Sara's arm and fingers have long since cramped up, but it's nothing, nothing at all when Wato's keening for her like this, her chin looped over her shoulder, their bodies together as they move as one.

Nails claw down her back, Sara grunting as Wato lets out a string of curses and her name and one final cry of pleasure as they, as they--

Then Wato's quaking in her orgasm, the feel of her closing around Sara's fingers bringing on Sara's own.

Watos entire body sags against Sara, her arms falling away. 

Her hard breathing turns into sobs, jarring, uncontrollable.

Sara slides out of her, drawing her arms around her, tight, strong.

"It's okay," she breathes out, trying to catch her breath. "It's okay, sweetheart--you're safe, you're loved, so much, so much..."

"D-Don--t res--ent me..." Wato cries, her speech shattered by her emotions.

"What?"

"You c-cant."

Sherlock loosens her arms, trying to draw back to look at Wato, but she finds herself in a deadlocked grip. Wato will not let her go.

"Hey, hey, I'm not going anywhere--I just wanna see your face."

"C-Cry--ing..."

Sherlock huffs. "As if that will ever stop me wanting to look at you. Come on now..."

A moment passes. 

Then Wato relents, Sherlock keeping her arms around her, keeping close as she takes in Wato's tear-stained cheeks. At that worry line that's taken up residence on her forehead on the bad days.

She has to soothe it.

"I will never resent you. Ever. Not now, and not in the years to come."

Wato is unconvinced. "Y-you love y-your job."

"I did love my job," Sherlock admits. "Without it, I wouldn't have you. And yes, I might miss solving cases and getting on Shibata's nerves, but it isn't the be all end all that you think it is. I've got other skills."

"But y-you were goo-d at it." Wato sniffles, blinking her tears away. "You hel--ped people."

"And maybe now my...path, or whatever it is you want to call it, is to help you get back on your feet. Get you back to school so you can get that degree you keep looking at."

Watos eyes widen a little, but Sara knows its more from being called out than her invading Watos privacy. She draws her hands up to wipe at Watos tears.

"I think you'd be exceptional in that line of work," Sara says, rolling on with the subject. "It's in the medical field, it's non-critical so it's automatically less mentally draining, and it will most definitely fulfil the duty you feel you have to assist others."

Wato looks down. She's biting her lip. Sara notes it, already aware fear is stopping Wato.

"Will you tell me what's stopping you from applying?"

Wato sighs. She shifts back, climbing off Sara. Busies herself with putting her pajamas back on, not looking at Sara when she throws hers at her.

"Y-you'll get cold," is all she offers. "Gonna b-brush my teeth..."

She disappears.

\-----

She's woken in the middle of the night by Watos whimpering. She hasn't had a nightmare in nearly two weeks. Sara grits her teeth together, and thinks:

_Screw this._

She shuffles right behind her, sliding her arms around Watos frame. Lines up her hand with Watos heart. Holds her tight. Hopes with every part of her that wherever Wato is, she feels comforted.

"I want you to get back your confidence," Sara whispers in Watos ear. "Get back that unwillingness to back down, that I fell in love with. That got you through a fucking war."

Sara takes a few breaths, calming herself from thoughts of Wato struggling, alone and scared in a foreign country.

"I want you to work through your fears and find a way to achieve what I know you want. I know that physical therapy is that. I know you'll be a dedicated student and a dedicated public servant. It's who you are as a person, as real as your brown hair or that birthmark on the back of your leg."

Sara shuts her eyes. Pictures Wato overtaking her desk with her books, her familiar handwriting all over. Imagines coming to get her from a lecture hall, or a study session. Making sure she eats during a hard night before exams.

Her soft cries have eased now. Somehow Watos calmed down from her words.

Sara exhales. Knows she has so much more to say.

"Because if you can face your fears with this, I'll know that you're okay. I'll know that we can argue about getting a dog or a cat, something a little more permanent for us. I'll know that when Irene and Kento start having kids you won't be reminded of Kugimiya and her child. Then maybe, after you've found work and I've shown my collection of sketches somewhere, when we're settled, I'll know that I can ask you to marry me. And even though it's not recognised here, you can help me get on a plane for our honeymoon in London and we can make it official. Because I'd really like to spend the rest of my life loving you, if you give me that chance. If you can work through the things that scare you now."

Her hand is shaking near Watos heart as she finishes voicing her thoughts. She balls it into a fist, her arm stiffening.

Which is when she notices the minute change in Watos breathing, that wasn't there before. That she'd been too busy to properly differentiate.

"How much did you hear?" she whispers, heart suddenly in her throat.

Wato turns in her arms. Kisses her softly. Sara can feel her smiling in it, as their lips linger together. Her heart calms.

Wato chuckles, unexpectedly.

"We are not getting a cat."

\-----

She hands in a revised version of her resignation letter to Reimon the next day. Knows he deserves to be given it face to face.

He promptly asks Wato and her out to bowling that night.

Wato's still going three months later, a twice a week break from her studies that Sara knows she enjoys. 

It gives her time to draw her commissioned pieces. To play her cello. To take a breath. To sit out on that stone step in the early evening and be thankful that the window smashed. That there'd been rain that night.

That it hadn't ended before it truly began.

She's contemplating her life in the summer night air with a slice of Kimie's strawberry cheesecake when she hears the front door shut and the alarm code entered. It's way too early for Wato to be--

Sara stands quickly, stepping back into the house, the spoon sliding off her plate in the rush.

But Wato's already walking towards her, up the hall, at the beginning of the glass windows, further than she's been in--

"Yumi's dog had her babies," Wato says, her whole face lit up with excitement. "There's one I think you'll like, he's the sweetest thing I've ever seen, but he's the runt of the..."

Sara watches as Wato registers where she is, the cloud of realisation completely changing her. She stiffens, eyes darting to the pane of glass, new, unlike the others.

"Wato..."

Fingers flick her way, and Sara stops.

She can see Wato visibly breathing in, slow, steady. Holding it for a few seconds, then exhaling measurably. Blinking carefully as she does it again. Sara sees her shoulders loosen, her face settle as she continues working through her breathing technique. She looks down at the watch on her wrist. At her shoe. Taps each finger of her left hand to her leg. Reverses the direction with her right fingers. Each movement and look accompanied by a breath in and a breath out.

Then she looks Sara's way. Her eyes are watery, but the weight of fear has eased. Is leaving her. She's worked her way out of a panic attack, and she knows it.

Sara moves toward her, slowly, as Wato does the same.

"You amaze me," Sara says, wrapping her arms around Wato.

Wato smiles, embarrassed, and kisses her. Draws her hands up into Sara's longer hair, now sitting just above her shoulders.

"My unkempt mess of a lover," Wato says, eyes glistening with amusement now, the fear gone.

Sara latches onto the comment, to keep her away from the darkness. "Says you, Miss Split Ends 2019."

Wato slaps her back. "I'm still waiting on that haircut you owe me."

Sara smiles. "Well, I'm sure Kimie-san has some scissors somewhere I could use..."

"You know what I mean."

Sara kisses her. "How about we go get our hair cut tomorrow before we meet this dog. Give him a good first impression?"

Wato smiles and nods. They share a kiss, slow, meaningful. It lingers for a long moment.

"Maybe," Wato starts as she breaks for air, "When the dog is--" 

Sara kisses her again. 

"Stop distracting me," Wato warns, her fingers to Sara's lips. "You're gonna want to hear this."

"What could be more important tha--"

Wato squeezes Sara's lips shut with her index finger and thumb. Laughs at Sara's pout.

It will never not be the best sound in the world.

"When Yoshio's house trained and settled in, if things go right with him...maybe I'll think about letting you get a cat. But a good breed, not some dog-hating, people-hating monster who refuses to--" 

Sara kisses her again, and Wato lets her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I may continue this into another series, or I may not. I have some ideas, but my Japanese learning has slipped off so...


End file.
